


Abject

by AtmosphericFantasy



Category: Deadpool (Movieverse), Deadpool - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Blood, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Injury, Mutant Reader, Near Death Experiences, Other, Self-Harm, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Torture, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-15
Updated: 2019-01-13
Packaged: 2019-06-27 21:31:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 8
Words: 43,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15693774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AtmosphericFantasy/pseuds/AtmosphericFantasy
Summary: He reached round to his back to retrieve the large rifle and raised it in your direction. There's metal crawling up his neck, and one of his eyes sparked bright orange again. What the fuck was he?





	1. Effortless

**Author's Note:**

> I've gotten kinda bored of all the fluffy Cable/Reader fics. I need some goddamn angst, you know? I want pain, I want suffering, I want emotional fuckery. So here it is. Please enjoy!

You were getting stronger. You could feel it every time you woke up. The doctors checked that your IV was draining at least half a pint of blood every day, to keep you weak and under control. They came in pairs, along with three prison guards to keep them safe. They'd learnt their lesson from the first week you were in this place, when you'd managed to elbow one of the doctor's in the nose and use their blood to blast a hole in the wall before your collar incapacitated you with its shock. 

You had heard them muttering about the collars getting an update, there was an upgraded version that suppressed mutant abilities rather than discharging an electrical shock when they were used. But the facility was privately owned, they didn't have access to the government-made suppressor collars. So they made use of what they had. 

After you'd attacked that doctor, they'd moved you to a padded cell, and kept you restrained with a straitjacket. You refused to eat at first, as one of the guards held out a spoon to your mouth. When they forced-fed you through a tube, you made yourself ignore the humiliation of them spoon-feeding you. Anything but that fucking tube. You shuddered at the thought of that protein mix going down your throat as vomit tried to make its way up. 

You had to be patient. You had to wait. Time was made up of visits from the doctors, of being fed, of having supervised visits to the bathroom and showers next your cell. You'd experienced degradation before but this was on its own level, unique in its abject horror. It's difficult to keep yourself together, to keep your anger pitted at the base of your stomach, ready to spring at the right moment. You lost yourself in memories, in hopelessness, in the grief you felt for those who had been taken from you. 

When they brought you to the facility, you didn't know where they had taken the kids. The three of them were mutants like you, they'd been abandoned by their families like you. And you were too weak to protect them. You didn't even know if they were in the same facility as you or if they'd been moved someplace else. But even the slightest hope was enough, it had to be enough. You had to get stronger, you had to protect them. 

At times you wished you had a different power, something easier, something that didn't have you cutting into your skin every time you needed to use it. Blood was your strength. When you cut yourself, you could drive the blood out from your wounds and turn it into concussive blasts, defensive shields, form shapes with it. You could manipulate the blood in someone else's body, pull the blood from their brain and make them pass out. It wasn't until the facility had hunted you down that you realised you could make someone's blood shatter out of their body. It was the first time you'd killed someone. You only wanted to stop them, but you were so angry, so scared, so tired from all the running, so just took a hold of them and. . .made them stop.

You had used too much blood, you'd collapsed to the ground, watching the kids getting tasered and restrained one by one before you lost consciousness. 

Then you woke up in a cell at the facility. They'd been after you for weeks, and they knew your power. You knew they were studying you now, learning from your abilities so that it could be used against you and other mutants. You learned that one of the senior researchers at the facility was Doctor Peterson. He saw you when you first arrived as you slipped in and out of consciousness. He seemed particularly interested in your abilities and even though you weren't all with it, you could tell that the others were nervous of him, almost scared. 

The next time you saw him was after you'd attacked that doctor. Before moving you to a padded cell, Peterson came in and took direct control of your collar. He sent shocks to it, over and over, watching you convulse and shake. Each time you managed to recover, he'd step a little closer to you and trigger the collar. You don't remember how many times it was, only that you passed out at some point. When you came to, he was crouching down next to you, he tilted his head before sending another shock. He kept going, triggering the collar again and again, shock after shock until you were curled up in a ball on the floor, muscles seizing up, body shaking, piss running down your legs, knowing nothing but pain. You were barely conscious when they dragged you to a shower and hosed you down.

You wished you could have fought back. But you needed so much blood to fight. It didn't matter that you could regenerate blood much faster than humans when you practically healed like one. Before you were captured, you only used your powers when you absolutely had to. If you'd used them too much, you'd weaken yourself, and you couldn't protect the kids. You had to be strong for them. At least that was what you had once thought. 

But with them draining your blood every day, whatever was left was getting more powerful. If they realised you were getting stronger, they'd take more from you, maybe they'd put you into a coma and eliminate you as a threat completely. 

You had to try. For them. For those stupid fucking kids that had become your family, Elsie, Bowen and Reese. You found all three of them together, scared, hungry. You were terrified of the responsibility of looking after them, but you never saw the option of walking away, only that it had to be done. It wasn't safe enough to stay anywhere for too long, so you kept moving. Sometimes you'd drive for days, crossing state lines, hoping you'd find some sort of sanctuary, but nowhere was safe for long.

You had to get them back. 

When the doctors came in, you kept silent and docile as you had been for weeks. You forced your eyes down to the padded floor, well away from the guards hovering by the door. In your peripheral vision, you could see their stance had become laxed, weapons rather loose in their grip. They must have thought you had become deranged, incognizant of your surroundings, of what your life had become. You let your head drop further down and slowly bit into your cheek, desperately trying to work through the pain as your teeth tore into the flesh. 

As blood started to fill your mouth, you lifted your head, letting it drip past your lips as you smiled. The tension erupted through the room, the doctors and guards' expressions filled with fear. You gritted your teeth as you forced the blood to rip through the collar, and down the restraints on your back. Your hands yanked off the straitjacket over your head as the doctors fled from the cell. Before the guards could taser you, you held out an arm and clenched your fist, pulling the blood down from their brains. After they collapsed to the floor, you pulled out the IV, watching as blood trickled from the vein. 

Before leaving the cell, you rummaged over one of the guards and picked up their knife. As you reached the doorway, you crouched and peered out into the corridor. Two guards immediately fired, live rounds this time, and you shifted back before they could lower their aim. You concentrated on their blood, eyes closing as you could sense it, feel it as if it were an extension of yourself. You moved out of the cell when you heard their bodies collapse onto the ground. 

Heading down the corridor, you spotted another cell up ahead and couldn't help but stop and open up the small window on the cell door to see if anyone was inside. But it was empty. You didn't know if you were strong enough to help anyone else escape aside from the kids. You forced yourself to concentrate on them, they were your priority. When they were safe, you'd get the other mutants out. 

No one deserved this place. 

You cut off the sleeves of the white t-shirt you were wearing, exposing your arms and moved along the corridor. You brought the knife up close to your shoulders and pressed it hard enough to break the skin. You made several cuts on your left arm before switching sides and cutting into the other. This much blood would be enough for a bodily shield. You were outnumbered and didn't know where you were going, it was almost a given that they'd manage to fire at you before you could drop them. 

The thought made you pick up your pace, those five guards you'd already put down wouldn't be unconscious for long. You reached a set of doors up ahead and peered through the small window, all you could see was an elevator and a door that seemed to lead to the stairs. Pausing for a brief moment as you opened the door, you wondered why an alarm wasn't going off, why the door hadn't been locked. Those two doctors had got away, and surely they would have let the others know that a prisoner had escaped. It didn't matter, you had to keep going. 

As you walked barefoot up the stairs, you tucked the knife into the band of your white pants. You vaguely registered the aching in your legs after weeks of disuse, but the adrenaline was enough that it could easily be ignored. After four flights of stairs, there was a doorway leading to another floor. You opened the door slowly, but you didn't see much, another corridor, maybe more cells, you couldn't tell. Place seemed deserted. Continuing up the stairs, you started hearing commotion, shouts, arguments. Approaching the entrance to the next floor, you gradually pushed the door with your foot until it was open about an inch. It was enough that you could feel the blood of two bodies, a man and woman from the sounds of the heated argument. 

"Do you know how many people that guy killed at the Icebox? We have to get out of here!" 

"Peterson's ordered a full lockdown, ma'am. I'm afraid we can't let you leave until the threat has been neutralised and the order to-" You silenced them both, collapsing them onto the ground. You couldn't lock onto someone through walls or solid barriers. The crack in the doorway was enough. After raising your shields and pushing open the door, you saw an elevator to your right, and a set of doors straight ahead that lead to a corridor. It was wider than the other floors had been, lighter too. As you headed past the doors, you could see offices and laboratories to your left and your right. The normalcy of it all made you feel sick. You were distracted by an employee noticeboard on the wall, one of the pieces of paper pinned on it was a list of people who wanted to attend the facility's Christmas party. You winced in discomfort when you felt bullets hit your shield. Three guards had spotted you up ahead and you heard one of them shouting for backup.

Instead of dropping them, you threw out a blast, knocking them hard off their feet before they landed in a heap on the ground. Continuing past them down the corridor, you saw another office to your right and spotted Peterson with two other guards. They didn't notice as you walked in through the open door. 

"How did he breach our security? You assured me that this wouldn't-" Peterson stopped mid-sentence when he noticed you in the doorway. His expression filled with animosity for a moment before it seemed to change as he looked away from you. He frantically pushed the two guards in front of him for protection, but you dropped them and reached out your hand, feeling his blood and holding him in place. But something was wrong, you concentrated on his blood, trying to work out what it was until the sick realisation dawned on you. It was your blood. Your blood was inside his body. He must have been. . .how many times had he. . .

The expression on the doctor's face was one of fear, and you thought for a moment that it's because of you. Could he see the realisation in your expression? The rage in your eyes? The disgust and utter horror of what he had done? But you realised he wasn't quite looking at you, he was staring at something behind you, past your shoulder.

Before you could turn to see what the doctor's looking at, something hit your back, making your spine shudder at the electrical sensation. Fear overwhelmed you for a brief moment as you anticipated an onslaught of pain, but it never came. If you hadn't had your shields up, that shock would have put you down. You quickly turned, one hand clenched into a fist to keep the doctor in place, the other held out to protect yourself. A man stood by the doorway, he had a scarred face, hair shaved at the sides, a large weapon strapped to his back, a sidearm holstered on his side. Whatever he'd used to shock you appeared to be a small device that he tucked away into his pocket. He certainly didn't look like a guard but his gear was tactical, more for offence than defence. You swore you saw a glint of light in one of his eyes.

"Can't let you hurt him," the man told you, his voice low, gravelly, and filled with an assured confidence. Hurt him? You weren't just going to hurt him, you were going to rip that fucker apart until he was nothing but scattered pieces of flesh. The man's mouth twisted into a snarl after you dropped the doctor, letting him collapse onto the floor as he passed out. You raised both your arms and try to take hold of the stranger, fingers wide to lock onto his blood and fix him to his place. 

But there's nothing. . .you reached further out, eyes widening in shock. You can't really feel him. He's not right. Whatever's inside of him, you can't get a bead on it. He was a mutant, you could tell, but he was something else too. Your eyes looked over his body and you took in his metallic arm which you hadn't noticed before. He reached round to his back to retrieve the large rifle and raised it in your direction. There's metal crawling up his neck, and one of his eyes sparked bright orange again. 

What the fuck was he? 

When he fired, the blast knocked you back through a desk but your shields took the brunt of the damage rather than your body. You gritted your teeth before throwing out a blast at him, but it's immediately deflected by his own shield as he raised his metallic arm. His was orange like the glint in his eye rather than your red. He's forced back only a few feet. You used the knife to cut deeper into your arm and threw a much more powerful blast that pushed him through a wall. Before he reengaged, you turned to the doctor who just started coming around. 

"Where are they?" You seethed, clenching your fists to take control of him. When he didn't immediately respond, rage surged inside of you and you slowly lifted up your arms, fingernails digging into your palms as you gradually raised his body off the floor. Blood trickled out of his nose, out of his mouth, and his eyes were wide with panic. 

"Where are my kids!" You shouted at him, swallowing down a sob that was threatening to escape.

You didn't hear him approach, only felt as the stranger's body collided into the back of you and knocked you face first into the ground. It took the breath out of you, and you lost control of Peterson. After he dropped to the floor, the fucker made a run for it. The stranger's weight was heavy on your back, his hands latched onto your wrists as he restrained you, knees pressing onto the backs of your thighs. You helplessly struggled against him, trying to buck his body off of you. 

"You have to stop," he growled into your ear, hot breath pouring over your neck. You closed your eyes, letting yourself go limp against him, and ignored the strength of his metallic arm as it pulled your wrist behind your back with ease. You concentrated on the blood trickling from the deeper wound you'd made on your arm and forced it upwards, knocking the man right off of you and into the ceiling. After rolling your body out of the way of him and the falling debris, he landed back onto the ground with a grunt, somehow managing to land in a crouch.

This guy was strong, powerful. You had to stop him now so that you could get to Peterson and find out where the kids were. The guards were probably rallying too, it had been several minutes now since you escaped the cell. They might pump the whole block with knockout gas. You took to your feet before he fired the rifle again, bullets this time rather than a surge of energy. Your shields managed to hold against him so you cut above your elbow before tucking the knife away at your hip. You used both hands to throw out blasts, but with his own shield raised, he barely moved a few feet. 

You let one arm drop to your side, waiting as the blood dripped onto the ground. You moved the drops along the floor, forming the blood into a sphere. It passed behind him and lifted up, changing into a pair of wings, and moved until it found the back of his neck and wrapped around his throat like the collar you'd been wearing for weeks. The blood jerked him back into a wall and held him in place. Before you could leave the room, you heard his weapon whine as if it was upsurging for a stronger attack. You threw your body out of the room and barely missed the blast as it tore through doorway. 

You landed awkwardly on your side, and quickly scrambled to your feet and sprinted down the corridor. You only made it a few yards before he fired again, blasting through the wall and knocking you off your feet. 

The next thing you were aware of was wet dripping down your face. Your body was slumped on the floor, ears ringing, head throbbing from the blow. A few moments passed before your vision returned to normal and you could see the floor beneath you without everything being unfocused. Your cough was wheezy, and you struggled to breathe, the air was filled with dust from the debris. 

For a brief second you didn't want to get up. You felt exhausted, drained, you were in so much pain. You had been for a long time. You couldn't remember the last time you were happy- 

A memory surfaced, you'd just stolen a minivan and put the seats down in the back. The kids had filled it with duvets and pillows and they slept as you drove through the night. In the morning, you'd treated them to waffles at a rundown diner and they'd managed to lose much of the pervasive tension that had been hovering over them for a week after a close call with the cops. They were smiling, laughing, even asked for seconds. 

For a brief moment you could breathe. You could enjoy a fleeting moment of happiness. But that had all been taken away from you. They had been taken away from you. You'd make them pay for that, you'd make them suffer. You'd make Peterson suffer. After what he did to you. . . 

You let your anger consume you as you crawled up onto your feet. Bracing against what's left of the wall with an arm, you ignored the dizziness, the throbbing from your head wound and headed down the corridor, avoiding large chunks of debris. At first your steps were unsteady, but you pushed through the pain, knowing you had to find Peterson. It didn't matter why that mutant tried to stop you. He was probably owned by the facility to keep others like you in check, he'd succeed where humans would fail. You knew in your gut you weren't strong enough to hold him in place for long, certainly not long enough for you to find the doctor, the kids and get them out. He was far more powerful than you, and you didn't think you could withstand another attack from him.

But why was Peterson so scared of him? He was not the sort of man to be afraid of things he controlled, was the mutant not in his employ? 

The corridor split into two, so you veered to the right. Ahead you could see a set of double doors, and through its windows you saw an elevated walkway. It was getting harder to stay on your feet but you kept going until you reached the doors. Beneath the walkway seemed to be a main cell block, similar to where you'd been before. Is this where Peterson had gone? You didn't know. Ignoring a wave of lightheadedness, you had to face the fact that you were more concerned with getting away from the mutant than finding Peterson. Base survival instincts were kicking in, and there wasn't much you could do to convince yourself to turn back, even though it seemed unlikely Peterson would go this way when he had access to the elevator and stairs. 

Your feet were inching to move, your gut bubbling with growing panic and demanding that you run as fast as physically possible. A waning stagger was all you could muster as you pushed open the door and headed across the walkway. You must have been about four stories up from the bottom of the cell block. You had made it halfway across when you heard the door open behind you. Bullets hit your shield before you could turn to the sound. But it wasn't the mutant. His rifle had made a different sort of noise to the guns the guards had. You held out a hand to lock onto their blood as you faced the four guards that had followed you through the doors and onto the walkway. Before you could drop them, you watched as the mutant came up behind them, effortlessly throwing one of them over the walkway. The guard screamed as he fell to the ground. The mutant immediately moved onto the next one, kicking them off their feet before they could turn. The mutant disarmed the third and smashed his head into the metal railings. The fourth wasn't able to fire before the mutant took him down with his sidearm. 

He looked up you after firing twice at the second guard, point blank in the head. He'd gone through them with such blistering ease that it left your body frozen to the spot. It was as if he'd been holding back when he'd been engaging you. Only now did you comprehend how much of a threat he truly was. 

"You're coming with me," he told you as if it was a matter of fact. He wasn't going to give you a choice. When was the last time you chose to do something? Chose to act of your own volition rather than the whims and schedules of the people in this place? Your head started to slowly shake from side to side. He had hurt you, shot at you, tried to restrain you and almost killed you when he blasted through the wall. And he dared to say that? 

The rage that took you in that moment was a bodily experience. It thrummed through your veins and you could feel it spreading out from your chest. Your eyes started to water, your breathing became heavy, your teeth grinded together. Pulling out your knife, you slit your skin wrist to elbow in a straight line, the dark blood seeped out heavily from the wound. When you looked back up to the mutant, his stance seemed to waver for a brief moment and you wondered if you imagined the flash of hesitation on his face. 

Instead of throwing out a blast, you let the blood raise up into the air, forming into numerous pairs of wings. You felt out to the two dead guards. Their blood was dying, weakening with every moment and in a few minutes would no longer be viable to use. Pairs of red wings lifted up from their bodies and the mutant raised his own shield, anticipating the attack. 

There must have been more than forty of them hovering in the air. You launched ten of them directly at the mutant, aiming them across his body to test the resilience of the orange shield that hummed as it was raised. He staggered back a few steps, never losing his balance. His left flank was bolstered by the metallic arm, and the shield that seemed to be generated by it. You split the remaining wings in half, letting some approach him head on, the others dropped down underneath the walkway to then fly up to his weaker right side where he was unprotected by the shield. 

Before you could launch them, he came barreling towards you at full pace, effortlessly maneuvering past the guards. The wings to his right sped towards him but he quickly pivoted his shield to defend himself. You pulled the remaining wings back and formed them into a line before hurling them at him. He was able to recentre the shield a split second before the impact knocked him backwards onto the walkway. The mutant was already starting to rally and getting back onto his feet mere seconds later.

You looked down to your arm, it was shaking, the arterial wound continued to bleed heavily. You didn't know how long you had left, a few minutes at most. Your breathing was shallow, heart racing, you started to feel dizzy, nauseous. You were going to bleed out soon. That fact didn't seem to worry you as much as it should have. 

You wouldn't give in. You'd hold onto these last moments of freedom, of resistance. This was something you'd chosen, and as bad as it was, it had still been a choice. You would fight, until the fucking end. The mutant pulled the large rifle over his shoulders, and you heard it whining as he took aim, upsurging for a stronger attack. 

You yelled in pain as you impaled the knife into your thigh, and screamed as you pulled it out. Blood gushed out of the femoral artery. The knife slipped from your grasp onto the walkway. You fought through the pain, letting rage take control. You cried out a guttural, frenzied noise as you bolstered out your shields, stronger than anything you'd ever built before, and threw a blast at him so powerful that it rippled through the air and-


	2. Disassemble

-screaming. All you could hear was screaming. It was so loud that it was making your ears ring. It took you a few moments to realise that you were making the noise, your throat was raw, burning. The pain then hit you all at once, it was visceral in its agony, it was beyond anything you'd ever- 

\- - - 

The first thing you noticed when you came to was the smell. It was that coppery, tangy smell of blood. You could taste it in your mouth too. As you began to open your eyes, you let out a low groan from the pain you felt across your body. Your arm, your thigh, your head, those were the worst places, but it had been dulled down enough that it wasn't as bad as you knew it had been. Before it was debilitating, you were certain of that. 

You were in a car, you were moving. Your head was leaning against a window and you could make out the scenery passing by. Streets, industrial buildings, cars. As you leaned away from the window, you felt a wave of lightheadedness and thought for a brief moment that you would pass out. But thankfully it passed after a few moments. You forced your eyes to open wider so you could work out where you were. 

Your arms were raised up, strapped together and tied to the grab handle above the window. One of your arms had been heavily bandaged and the memory surfaced, you had to cut your arm, you were fighting, trying to get away, but you needed more blood, you needed to be stronger, he was too powerful, he was. . .

He was in the driver's seat, eyes focused ahead as he overtook other cars on the road. He was going fast, much faster than you realised. Your injured leg had been raised and propped up against the dash, the wound you'd inflicted in your thigh had been bandaged. You started tugging helplessly at the restraints around your arms, panic began to seep from your bones. No, no, no, not again. You refused to accept that he was taking you as his prisoner. Wasn't he trying to kill you? Where was he taking you? The unfamiliarity of the situation was so frightening that you were begging to be returned to your padded cell. You knew its walls, its visitors. But him? You knew nothing about him aside from the fact that he was much stronger than you and that you weren't able to control his blood.

The degree of his capabilities has been clearly displayed when he ploughed through those guards with uncheckered ease. He had killed three of them in a matter of seconds. What the fuck was he going to do with you?

"Stop moving," he growled at you, eyes never leaving the road. Instead of complying, you frantically started to yank at your arms, trying to break free. You pulled your leg down from the dash, groaning softly from the discomfort. You should have been in more pain, he must have drugged you. He was keeping you alive. You didn't want to find out what for. You needed to get out, you needed to get away from him, you needed blood. 

You threw your head against the window, the impact was hard enough that the glass cracked, you felt an onrush of pain. Wet spilled down your face. Your body stilled as you closed your eyes. He wasn't going to take you. You weren't going to let anyone take you ever again. 

You focused on the blood. 

You could feel it as it thrummed through your veins, as your heart pumped it around your body. He was not going to take you. You were so angry, so scared, so tired. Your limbs started shaking, muscles seizing, your lungs started hemorrhaging. Blood poured from your nose, out of your mouth as you started to choke. 

"No!" He cried out, hands wrapping around your face and-

\- - - 

You woke up feeling a dull throbbing at the side of your head, and you naturally tried to bring up your hand to it. But you couldn't move your arms. It took a few moments to piece your thoughts together, everything's groggy, you're still pretty out of it. You realised your head was laying against something hard so you lifted it upwards and gradually opened your eyes. Your head had been resting against a table, your arms were laying across it, wrists restrained with metal shackles which had been bolted down into the wood. 

Your fingers and thumbs on each hand were duct-taped together so you couldn't move them, couldn't use your fingernails to dig into your skin. You wondered for a brief moment if you were dreaming, but there's too much detail, everything's too vivid. Panic coursed through you when your body tried to jerk away from the table but you couldn't get away. There's duct tape wrapped around your hips and your legs to secure you to the chair. You're wearing a sleeveless shirt and a pair of boxers that didn't belong to you. 

You yelped when you felt something metallic slip past your lips and force open your mouth. Unconsciously, you opened your jaw even wider, to avoid biting down on something that would crack your teeth. There's pressure on your tongue and molars as your jaw was pried open even more. The metal wasn't cold like metal usually was, there was an odd warmness to it.

From the shape of it, there were two bits of metal and it. . .it felt like fingers, but how could they be metal? You felt your heart sink to your gut when you realised it's the mutant. He easily adjusted to your movements as you shook your head side to side, trying to get away from him. His fingers moved deeper into your mouth and you started to gag on them, eyes watering at the sensation. He forced your mouth open even wider and you watched in horror as his flesh hand brought some sort of metal contraption in front of your face. Whatever it was had straps. He ignored the frantic noises pouring from your throat and pushed the contraption into your mouth. You could feel metal bars on your top and bottom set of teeth, keeping your jaw fixed open. Your body flinched when you heard loud snapping noises as the contraption forced your mouth to open wide. The sounds you made turned into whimpers as you felt him strap the gag tightly around your head. 

After it was secure, his metal hand wrapped around your neck and pulled you backwards until you were sitting with your back against the chair. He applied a considerable amount of pressure on your throat, enough to have you gasping for air, pressure building over your cheeks, you could feel your racing pulse in your ears. And yet, he ensured you were still breathing, barely, but still. He was in total control of you. 

He wrapped something rather loosely around your neck before releasing you. When you leaned forward slightly, the restraint went tight. Whatever it was, he must have tied it to the chair. Fuck you couldn't move. He had taken away every possible means for you to make yourself bleed. You couldn't use your hands, dig your fingernails into your skin, couldn't move your head to hit something, and with that gag in your mouth you couldn't bite down on your cheek. You hadn't ever used blood from your mouth when you had fought against him, so how did he know? Was he just that thorough? His precision and his fighting abilities seemed to answer that question for you. 

Mouth splayed open, limbs restrained, unable to use your powers, you'd never felt so vulnerable in your life. It had been different at the facility. There you knew you could fight, it had just been a waiting game. But you had fought hard against the mutant and almost died in the process. You were outmatched, beaten. And now he had you. 

He leaned against the table right next to you, his leg almost brushing your arm. You couldn't help but turn your head and tilt it up slightly to look at him. He was staring down at you. His gaze was heavy, one of his eyes flickered orange for a brief moment. He didn't quite look angry, it was more irritation for being disturbed, like you were a fly he was about to squash. You felt saliva slowly fall down your lips, and immediately turned away from him, cheeks starting to burn with shame. The drool fell from your mouth and onto the table in one long line. The embarrassment quickly consumed the fear, your heart was aching, face burning. Your eyes slipped shut as you desperately wished that you were anywhere but here. 

The sound of mechanical whirring made your eyes snap open. Was he making that noise? You could see in your peripheral vision that his metal arm had come up to his face. You didn't think it was an advanced prosthetic, not with his eye, or the way metal crawled up his neck. It must be something else. But what else could it be? Had it been grafted onto him? The noise of his arm was unsettling, it sounded wrong. You couldn't close your eyes again. 

Drool continued to spill from your mouth at a disturbingly fast rate, a small puddle started to form on the table in between your arms. You tried not to concentrate on it, but with nothing to look at aside from the table, a small lamp perched on the corner and the wall in front of you, there wasn't much of an option. You couldn't look at him, it was too much. His proximity had your heart pounding against your chest. His arm whirred again as he lowered it to his side. 

You were becoming far too familiar with what that arm was capable of, its strength and the absolute control he had over it, the concave oval of hexagons it created as a shield, like an illuminated honeycomb, the odd warmth of his fingers, as if it was almost flesh. His blood wasn't like any mutant or human you'd ever known. Maybe the arm was why, maybe it had integrated into more of his body that was visible. 

He moved away from the table and your head turned to follow him. A large bed was the main fixture of the room, tall windows had its blinds drawn but you could still see some daylight trickling through. Was this his apartment? It lacked personal items and much decoration, so you wondered if it might be a hotel room but there's nothing else to confirm that thought. He rifled through a bag on the bed and turned back around so you faced forwards again. 

You heard the rustling of plastic, something being teared open before you felt something wipe your shoulder. It stung slightly, and you smelt the sharp tang of antiseptic. You turned your head slightly to look down and see what he was doing. He was using his flesh hand to wipe at the series of cuts you'd made from your elbows to your shoulders. They weren't deep enough for sutures. He ripped open a new packet and pulled out another wipe to continue his work. His touch was gentle, careful, he didn't press hard into your skin. 

He groaned softly, movements stopping. He pulled away for a few moments, before his metal hand clamped down on the crook of your elbow, whirring as his fingers gripped you firmly. 

"This might hurt," he murmured, voice softer than you'd ever heard. Unable to clench your fists to brace yourself, you curled up your toes as hard as you can. You felt something sharp digging into one of the cuts. It felt he was using like a pair of tweezers. The sensation was uncomfortable rather than painful. You turned towards him to see what he was doing, and he's much closer than you realised. 

Three scars crawled up from his eyebrow and they looked almost like claw marks. There's another ragged scar on his cheek that must have been a pretty nasty wound. He smelt like ozone, like the onset of a thunderstorm, a warning for imminent danger. He was using a pair of pliers to remove something that's embedded under your skin. You winced when he pulled it out, and he hummed softly, as if with muted gratification. He used the antiseptic wipe to continue cleaning your arm. He caught your gaze after getting a new wipe, and for a brief moment you were unable to do anything but stare. You couldn't read his expression, his eyes had an oppressive intensity that forced you to turn away from him. 

He switched to your other arm, wiping it clean without having to remove anything else. He moved away from you, and for the next minute you were waiting anxiously for him to return. You heard clicking noises, clanging of metal, and you twisted around to see what he was doing. Guns were strewn across the bed. He began disassembling them, stripping them down and cleaning the individual parts. The constant noise of it helped to calm you down, as did the lack of his proximity. You knew where he was and what he was doing. You could stare at the table in relative peace. 

You continued to stare for a long time. 

It was an odd sensation as the fear gradually faded until it became background noise. At some point, your mouth went dry and you stopped drooling. It was disappointing in a way, no longer able to watch the saliva pool on the table and slowly drip off of it, until it fell in between your legs onto the chair. It had given you something to watch. The adrenaline and panic had waned away and now all you could focus on was your growing discomfort. Your jaw was aching profusely, you were thirsty, your throat was parched, fingers were cramping. You really wanted to close your mouth. Your feet were starting to go numb and the gag he strapped around your head was so tight it felt like it was digging into your skull. 

He had finished fixing you up a while ago now. You're not sure how long it's been since you woke up. More than an hour? You hadn't yet exhausted every possible scenario of what he was going to do to you, torture, death, blackmail, rape, trade you to another facility, use your blood for his own experimentation. You had been confused about the mutant wanting to protect Peterson. The doctor had been terrified of him, so he hadn't hired the mutant to protect him. If he wasn't a part of the facility, then why was he there? Was he some sort of third party? It didn't make any fucking sense. Why would a mutant risk breaking into a place like that? Had he been there just for you? Why would-

Your heart started pounding again when you realised that the noises stopped. You breathed as quietly as possible, straining your ears to hear his approach. But you heard nothing. He silently moved into your eyeshot, and stood beside you before sitting on the table, rather than leaning against it as he had before. You looked up at him warily, feeling the rush of something between panic and dreaded anticipation. He placed a bottle of water on the table in between your arms, avoiding the puddle of drool. 

"You want some?" He asked, eyes dropping down to the table before looking back up. A frantic nod was your reply. 

"If you try and make yourself bleed, I'm going to hurt you, do you understand?" He swung a leg over your arm and rested his boot on top of your injured thigh. Eyes widening in panic, you couldn't think through the onslaught of fear, your body was frozen, unable to fight or flee. You shrieked in pain as he pressed his boot down into your bandaged wound. 

"Do you understand?" He repeated, his flesh hand latching onto your chin. Mercifully, he relented the pressure on your wound and shifted his boot to rest on your other thigh. You tried to nod against his grip, assenting noises poured from your throat. 

"Good," he mumbled, pulling his hand away from your face. Both of his arms then reached around to the back of your head as he unstrapped the gag, his face leaning in close to yours. There was stubble above his lips, some below and more on his chin. 

He pressed something on the side of the contraption, and the two metal bars propping your jaw open went slack. He pulled it out of your mouth and you groaned in relief, finally pressing your lips together. You moved your jaw around, to try and work through the ache. Before you could get anywhere, he opened up the bottle of water, muttering for you to tilt your head back. You did as he asked and he pressed the bottle against your lips, slowly tipping it up so you could drink from it. You practically inhaled the first few gulps, and started to cough when it went down wrong. 

He pulled the bottle away. "Slower," he told you softly. You nodded and did as he asked, taking the water in sips even though you wanted to chug the whole bottle. "Good," he mumbled, letting you finish half the bottle before pulling away. His thumb wiped away a few drops of water that had spilt past your lips. The movement was performed slowly, almost as if with care. Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion before he moved his leg back over your arm and slid off the table.

"Why-" The word came out raspy, you cleared your throat. "Why are you keeping me alive?" He didn't respond. The silence was blistering. Were you wrong? Was this merely a delay before he killed you? "Why are-" You started coughing badly, no longer able to ignore the itch in your throat. He laid a hand on your back before reaching around with his flesh arm to pick up the water bottle. He waited for you to finish before allowing you to drink more, his metal hand never leaving your back. He pulled the bottle away from your lips, pausing for a few moments to let you settle before letting you drain the rest of it. 

You're surprised by the wave of exhaustion that hit you, your body leaned forward, barely registering the restraint going tight around your neck. "You need to rest," he told you, shifting his hand onto your shoulder and pushing you backwards until your back was leaning against the chair. He pulled away, your body cooler without the odd warmth from his metal fingers. You turned to face him, watching as he retrieved some things from a bag, a vial, a syringe. 

"Are you going to kill me?" You asked, voice barely more than a whisper as you watched him fill the syringe with a colourless liquid. He paused, seeming to consider the question for a while before looking at you. 

"I don't intend to," he grumbled. You mulled over the answer, the way he carefully worded it, the way he seemed to consider what his exact response would be. Deep down you knew it was an honest reply. He never said he wasn't going to kill you, that he wouldn't. The possibility was there, that much was clear, but it was merely an intention not to. It wasn't enough. You started to wish that you'd never asked. 

He knelt down beside you, using another antiseptic wipe to clean a small area of your uninjured thigh. Your body started shaking in fear, and you're unable to speak, to protest, even though now you were able to. "This will help you sleep," he told you before injecting it into your thigh. You stared mindlessly, realising it was too late to object.

"Do you need to use the bathroom?" He asked, pulling the syringe away from you. The guards at the facility never used to ask, they had designated times during the day. It was funny how quickly a person could get used to the kind of humiliation supervised bathroom visits created. You nodded and started to prepare yourself mentally, he was new so the shame would be worse. It always was. He began to untie you, starting with the restraint around your neck. You sucked in a breath of air when you saw him pull out a knife. He cut the duct tape around your legs and ankles that had secured you to the chair and pulled it off your skin. You groaned in pain at the sensation, but as he continued it seemed to lessen, as if it was being muted. Whatever he'd given you must have been some sort of painkiller, and it was working fast. 

He moved onto your hips, and the duct tape came off without incident as it had been stuck to the shirt rather than your bare skin. As his hand moved over you, ripping off the tape piece by piece, the sudden realisation dawned on you that he had undressed you. He had replaced the bloodied clothes the facility gave you and had changed you into a shirt and boxers. He had stripped you bare. 

You're not sure how to process that information. Were they his clothes? Somehow that made it worse. You let your legs swing forwards and rolled your ankles, trying to get some feeling back. He used his metal hand to easily dislodge the shackles around your wrists that had been bolted into the table. He started to cut through the tape around your fingers and thumbs. You grunted softly when you could feel the small hairs above your knuckles being ripped out, but the pain was fading away. 

When your hand was free, you flexed your fingers which were still sticky from the tape. You watched as he switched to your other hand, cutting into the tape before unwrapping it. His hands were bigger than yours, both flesh and metal. At first you'd been afraid of what his arm was capable of, but now you couldn't help the curiosity that surfaced. You were intrigued by the metal hand and watched it intently as he worked. His fingers had such dexterity, such detail. There were platelets on each finger, seamlessly imitating knuckles. There were even arches near the tips of his fingers, like they were a more simplified version of fingernails.

After he finished, he slipped an arm around your back, the other underneath your knees and lifted you effortlessly off the chair. You balked at the sudden movement, feeling anxious that he was carrying you and taking your weight. He walked slowly to the bathroom, and you knew it was more for your benefit than his. Lowering you down onto your good leg, he kept an arm under your shoulders to take most of your weight. He turned his head to face away from you as his hand slid to the side of the boxers and pulled them halfway down your thighs. Your cheeks were burning, but you tried to focus on the fact that he had turned away. 

He lowered you onto the toilet before heading out of the bathroom, never once turning around. "You've got five minutes," he told you, closing the door behind him. He just. . .left. He didn't stay. The guards always stayed, always watched everything. You let out a breath, trying to force yourself to calm down. You shifted yourself slightly before relieving yourself.

There was no mirror in the bathroom, no window, how prudent of him. You were sure you'd find nothing sharp. He was thorough in that way. You were beginning to understand who he was as a person.

He'd shown you. . .almost kindness, respected your privacy, gave you honest answers, and yet he had pressed his boot onto your thigh without hesitation. He wasn't cruel, but he'd inflict pain when he deemed it necessary. He didn't seem like a sadist, he lacked that dark glean in his eyes. It was difficult to work out his expressions, what his intentions were, but you felt as though things weren't as hopeless as they had been. 

After you finished, you hesitated before flushing the toilet, the noise would signal that you're finished. You wanted more time to yourself first. You put weight on your good leg, a hand gripping onto the sink as you tried to lift yourself up and fight through the growing fatigue. It took you much longer and more effort than you expected, but you managed to stand and pull the boxers back up. You tried to shift your foot closer to the sink so you could wash your hands and get rid of the leftover adhesive from the tape. 

You lost your balance, landing on your side on the floor and getting the wind knocked out of you. Thankfully you didn't land on your head, you weren't sure how many more head injuries you could take at this point. At least the fall hadn't been painful, whatever he'd given you had been some pretty good shit. You sighed noisily, not having the energy to even think about how you were going to get back up. You were so fucking tired. When the door opened, it collided into your foot but you barely felt a thing.

He looked down at you sprawled onto the floor and you're too exhausted to try and work out what he might be thinking. He lifted you up and carried you back into the bedroom. The bed had been cleared of his weapons, covers pulled back. He laid you carefully down onto it before throwing the covers over you. It was so comfortable, it felt as if you were gradually sinking into the mattress. The sheets were clean and soft, as was the pillow. You watched him gather up all the duct tape that was strewn across the table and floor, and put it all into a bag. Your eyes were heavy as you tried to stay awake and continue to observe him. He wiped down the chair you'd been sitting on before moving onto the table and moping up your puddle of drool. 

When he moved to the bathroom, your eyes slipped shut and you promised yourself you'd open them up again when you heard him come back. You would open your eyes. . .you would watch him. . .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed this chapter! Thankyou for the kudos and comments, every one is very much appreciated. More coming soon.


	3. Indisputable

You woke up hungry. Your empty stomach rolled in protest, so you moved your hand to press against your gut. Groaning softly, you opened your eyes and wondered where food might be before you remembered where you were. The room was dark, you couldn't see any sunlight coming in from the blinds. Was it night? The only light source in the room came from an orange glow above the table. 

The mutant sat in the chair you'd been in before and an orange hologram hovered in front of him. There were lines of text around something skeletal-shaped. . .it was a map of arteries and veins of a body, a cardiovascular system. Before you could get a better look, a voice spoke. 

"Subject conscious." The hologram immediately disappeared and the mutant turned on the table lamp. Eyes squinting from the brighter light, you looked around the room trying to work out who had spoke. You shifted yourself up until your back was leaning against the backboard. That voice didn't belong to the mutant. Was it from a phone? He had a sidearm in his hand when he turned to face you. 

"Hands where I can see them," he ordered, taking to his feet and approaching the bed. The gun was pointed to the floor rather than directed at your head. You placed your hands on top of the sheets, fingers spread wide. He tucked the gun into the back of his pants before pulling out a leather strap from his pocket. The mutant grabbed your wrists and tied them together quickly. The restraint was tight but wasn't constricting blood flow to your fingers. 

He moved away to grab the chair and carry it over to the side of the bed. You wondered why he hadn't taped your fingers and thumbs together like before. Taking a look at your hands, you realised that he had cut your fingernails. You felt the end of your fingers with your thumb. They were cut so short you wouldn't be able to scratch even an itch with them. 

Thorough. The word popped into your mind. That's what he was. 

"Am I going to have to gag you?" He asked as he sat down, resting the handgun in his lap. You stared at him, knowing the extent he had taken to neutralise you, as well as the pain he was willing to inflict if you tried to make yourself bleed. 

You shook your head, you were too hungry to think about fighting, thirsty as well. He tilted his head towards you slightly, eyebrows lifting as if he was expecting more, a verbal response. "No," you replied, forcing yourself to stop fidgeting with your fingernails. He leaned back in his chair, seeming to relax his posture, but there was something in his eyes, something unconvinced. 

"Do you remember what I told you about making yourself bleed?" You nodded your head before remembering that he wanted you to say it out loud. "Yes," you muttered, trying not to think about his boot pressing against your thigh. He raised the gun off his thigh and moved it in circles, gesturing for you to elaborate. "You'll. . .hurt me."

"Good." You hoped he wasn't going to have to demonstrate again, your leg twitched at the thought. He fell silent, and you kept your eyes down, focused on the restraint around your wrists. There was no give to it.

Your stomach rumbled loudly and you were embarrassed by the noise. At least, you supposed, you didn't have to voice your want for food. He lifted himself off the chair, telling you he'd get you something to eat and headed out of the room. You let out a deep sigh, bringing one knee up to your chest, leaving your injured leg flat. Fucking hell. It was difficult to look past the restraint around your wrists, the gun in his hand, the reiteration of his threat to not use your powers. But you were in a better position than you were before. He'd established a base line for you to follow, so he'd alleviated the measures to keep you in check. As long as you didn't cross that line. . . 

Your body felt drained even though it felt like you'd been asleep for a while. Everything was aching, and your thigh hurt the most. The bandage around your arm was new, he must have been keeping close watch of your injuries. It should have made you feel more uncomfortable than you were, but he'd respected your privacy before. He didn't seem like the kind of person to take advantage of someone unconscious. Running towards them at full pelt with a gun in his hands seemed more his style. 

You wondered if you could take him when you were at full strength. You lacked his combat skills, his strength and endurance. Whatever you'd have to do, it would need to be fast, brutal. You'd use your anger, it felt like you were stronger when you let the rage take control. 

He came back with a sandwich and a bottle of water, handing you the food before placing the bottle by your legs. He took a seat as you began to eat the sandwich, you gulped down some water after the first couple bites as the bread was pretty stale. It had been slightly awkward with both your wrists tied together, but you adapted quickly. You almost finished the sandwich before you realised how close the mutant was, sitting only a few feet away. His eyes were downcast and focused on his hands holding the sidearm, fingers shifting the weapon in his grip as if he was inspecting it. The dexterity of his metal hand was uncanny. It was mesmorising, it moved just like flesh. 

The movement stopped, so you quickly went back to eating the rest of the sandwich. After finishing the water, he placed the gun on the bedside table next to you, making it closer to you than him. Was he challenging you to take it? See what you'd do?

"Bathroom?" He asked, rising to his feet. You nodded in reply, hoping he didn't want a verbal response. Maybe it wasn't a challenge after all. He pulled the sheets off of you, exposing your bare legs. Without the sheets to cover your half-naked body, you felt vulnerable even though he'd seen you before. You hated not being able to cover yourself up, he could see all your scars. He untied the restraint around your wrists, tucking it into his pocket. Before he could pick you up, you moved your legs off the side of the bed, putting weight onto your good leg. He slipped his metal arm under your shoulders, wrapping your arm around his neck. 

He carried your weight each time you hopped to the bathroom. It was more painful than being carried, but at least this was more dignified. This way, you had a modicum of control. As he maneuvered you to the front of the toilet, his fingers slid to the side of your boxers and you couldn't help but grab his hand. His body stiffened and you realised that you'd seriously miscalculated and that he would hurt you for stepping out of line. You immediately released him.

"Sorry I. . .I didn't mean. . ." you trailed off, unable to express that you didn't want him to expose you anymore than he already had. It would only make things worse. You grabbed onto the sink to balance yourself on your good leg and lowered your head as a roll of panic coursed through you. You braced yourself for him to hit you, knock you down onto the floor, press his boot against your neck. 

He grunted softly before letting go of you and leaving the bathroom without saying a word. You swore under your breath, chastising yourself for being so stupid. He was not the kind of guy to piss off, especially when he had no qualms about inflicting pain. What the fuck were you thinking? 

After using the toilet, you managed to pull yourself up onto your good leg and position yourself in front of the sink without falling over. You heard the door open behind you while you were washing your hands and kept your eyes fixed on the water as it ran the soap off your skin. You couldn't help but delay your movements, the fear was getting worse. He would wait until you had finished before he punished you. Maybe he'd use the device that he'd tried to shock you with. You were lucky your shields had been strong enough to hold against it. But now? There was nothing to protect you. Oh no, no, of course he'd let you use the bathroom first, he didn't want you pissing everywhere when he shocked you. 

The blood rushing around your ears was so loud you could barely hear the water running. Your hands were shaking as you continued to wash them, even though there wasn't any soap on your skin. His hand then moved around you to turn the faucet off. Your muscles froze, knowing what he was about to do, fuck you couldn't prepare yourself for it, the only thing you could feel was all-consuming dread. His warm body pressed up behind you for a moment as he reached over to grab the towel before pulling away. His arms came around you as he used the towel to dry your hands, wipe your fingers and your palms. 

"I'm going to take you back to bed so you can rest, alright," he told you, his deep voice vibrated around your chest and the words seemed to cut through the haze of fear. He left the towel in the sink before taking hold of you and helping you out of the bathroom. It wasn't until he'd laid you on the bed and covered you with the sheets that you calmed down. You clung to the pillow, mind trawling through the memories of what happened before with Peterson. 

You remembered begging, desperately pleading for him to stop but if anything that seemed to spur him on. The muscles in your body had seized up, you couldn't move, you couldn't breathe, just writhed on the floor of your cell. You wondered what the mutant's taser would have felt like without your shields. Would it be worse than the collar? Was his created for maximum damage? You raised your head off the pillow to see where he was. Sitting at the table again, he appeared to be working on something but you couldn't see properly with his back in the way. There were wires, bits of metal, you didn't know. 

Looking around the bedroom, the gun on the bedside table was gone. You relaxed back into the mattress, listening to what he was doing, trying not to think about what Peterson had done to you. You couldn't help but wonder why the mutant had protected him. You didn't think that he worked for the facility, maybe the mutant was blackmailed. But if Peterson had something to hold against him, it didn't explain the fear on his face. It didn't make sense. 

You wanted to ask him. Why were you here? Why did he save you? What was he going to do to you? Would he even answer you? Would he punish you for speaking without being prompted? You laid in bed, mind racing over the questions and whether you could even ask them. He hadn't tied you up again. Surely that was promising? He wanted you to rest, to heal, but what the fuck for? You started fidgeting, unable to settle, and you tried to scratch your palms with your fingernails but there was nothing to scratch with.

"You should sleep," he told you without turning around to face you. You stilled and held onto the sheets tighter, as if they would protect you against him. 

"Why. . .why did you stop me? At the facility?" You asked, your voice quiet. You wondered whether he'd heard you when he let out a sigh. He continued working, remaining silent once more. You must have asked the wrong question, so you asked the one you wanted an answer for the most. 

"Why were you protecting Doctor Peterson? Do you work for him?" He let out a gruff laugh and moved round to face you, arm resting against the back of the chair. 

"I don't work for anyone," he muttered. "I wasn't protecting that asshole, I was protecting us all." He turned back around, seemingly satisfied that he'd responded to your question. But you didn't understand the answer. Protecting us all? Was he talking about mutants? Why would protecting a human who experimented on mutants, tortured them and took their blood, somehow be protecting mutants? What the fuck was he talking about?

"What does that mean?" 

"It means you were out of control, you didn't know what you were doing. You had to be stopped." It took you a few moments to digest the words. Out of control? He had killed at least three guards that you knew of, and you were out control? That wasn't even the worst part of what he'd said. The last part started to make you angry. You had to be stopped? Stopped from hurting that fucking bastard? 

"Stopped? I had to be stopped?" You couldn't hide the outrage in your tone. He got up off the chair, almost knocking it onto the floor as he spun round to face you. He came up to the side of the bed, looming over you as he spoke low, words clipped with controlled anger. 

"Do you understand what would have happened if I didn't stop you from killing him? Did you ever consider the fucking consequences? Do you know how much influence that shitstain has? How many senators are in his back pocket?" He paused for a brief moment as if he was expecting an answer, but there was none to give. 

"If you would have killed him, congress would approve a tenfold increase to funding private research on mutant abilities. His death would have fucked the movement for mutant rights for years." You'd never. . .never thought about what would happen. You were just so angry, so utterly consumed by it as you had raised his body off the ground, locked wholly onto his blood as if he had belonged to you, as if you were about to reap what was owed to you. 

All you'd known about Peterson was how he had violated you, the rest wasn't even a consideration. He had hurt you, took your. . .your blood. You'd never thought about the consequences, what would have happened after he died, the effects it would have had on other mutants. They would have punished everyone at the facility in a show of force, to keep them in line. They would've had to. The humans couldn't let one of their own be killed without repercussion. Fuck. . .all those mutants. 

You were transfixed by his dark eyes, unable to turn away. You knew he was telling you the truth, you knew it at the base of your gut. The anger you'd felt from his words had long since evaporated, only now to be replaced with an escalating anguish.

"If I didn't stop you," he grunted at you, shaking his head and his expression filled with disgust. "They would have footage of you ripping him to fucking pieces until he was nothing but chum." Your heart skipped a beat and ached profusely as you began to understand everything he'd said. That would have. . .the humans would never have let that go. It was perfect. An indisputable display of the wrongness of mutants, the monstrosity, the fucking barbarity.

It didn't matter who Peterson was, what he did. To do that to a person was abominable. Everything you'd ever tried to prove you weren't, that you meant just as much as a human life, that even though you had the X-gene it didn't make you less of a person, that you weren't a monster, that you deserved to be free. . .it would have all been for nothing. 

"Now tell me that wasn't what you were going to do." Tears spilled down your cheeks as he stared you down. It was what you were going to do. You wanted to kill him, you wanted to make him suffer. You never thought about the consequences, of what would happen to the other mutants at the facility, or out of it. In your life, you hadn't considered yourself to be a selfish person. There were moments here and there, but it was out of self-preservation more than anything. This was far beyond anything you'd ever done, or would have done if he hadn't stopped you. 

He turned away, finally breaking eye contact before heading back to the table and continuing his work. You curled up on the bed, trying to ride through the shame and the guilt, but it hurt so fucking much. You never wanted this. Any of this. You just wanted a life, you wanted to be safe, you wanted to be free. But at what cost? At what fucking cost? 

\- - - 

You tried to force yourself back to sleep every time you woke up. It worked the first couple times, but now your eyes were hurting and your body was aching all over. The blinds had been opened and the room was brighter than you'd ever seen it. Past the high rise buildings, the sky was covered with dark grey clouds. Some of them had an almost yellow hue to them, as if they were bruised.

It was going to rain soon. 

You didn't realise the mutant hadn't been in the room until he came in through the door with a bowl on top of a plate. 

"Sit up," he told you, coming round the side of the bed. Pulling yourself up, he rested the plate and bowl on your lap before handing you a spoon. You took it from him, and your stomach growled as you smelt the hot soup. There was something practically domestic about the moment, you could almost imagine that he was your family and was treating you to breakfast in bed because you weren't well. You felt somewhat comfortable in his presence, but there were still undercurrents of nervousness, agitation, and fear for what he might do to you if you didn't comply. You muttered a thanks to him, and he nodded in response before heading out of the room. 

It took you a moment to begin eating, but when you started you didn't stop, barely coming up for breath. Fuck you were hungry. You didn't care when you burnt your tongue and managed to finish a good half of the soup when the mutant came back. He passed you a sandwich, and you ate it quickly, dipping it into the soup until you finished. He placed a glass of water on the bedside table and you took only a few gulps from it, wanting to let the soup settle first. You relaxed against the backboard, stomach now satisfied. 

The mutant took the bowl, plate and spoon off you and you couldn't help thanking him again. He headed out of the room once more, presumably to the apartment's kitchen. When he came back in, he was holding a pair of crutches in his hands.

"Thought you should have these," he mumbled, walking up to your side of the bed before leaning both of them up against the bedside table. You stared at them in awe. He was. . .helping you, no it was more than that, he was giving you freedoms a bit at a time. Did he understand how you had felt? How desperate you were to take control of yourself? To meet your basic needs without supervision or assistance? He'd shown you kindness you hadn't experienced for a long time. He hadn't hurt you for stepping out of line, for stopping him in the bathroom. He could have, but he chose not to. 

You swallowed, trying to process the bouts of emotion. Did you even deserve his kindness? After everything? After the pain you could have inflicted to so many? Before your thoughts could spiral further, he told you to try them out. As you pulled the covers away, and slowly moved your legs to the side of the bed, he held the crutches out for you. Standing on your good leg, you took the crutches from him, slipping them underneath your arms and grabbing onto the handles before heading off to the bathroom. You turned back, and went back around the bed, getting the hang of the movements. He stood silently, arms at his sides as he watched you intently. It felt good to move your body, and work through the aches that had built up after being in bed for so long. 

There was an urge to go through the door you hadn't been through yet, and see the rest of the apartment, but you moved to the bathroom instead, not wanting to push your luck. 

"Can I?" You tilted your head to the door, gesturing that you wanted to use the toilet. 

"You don't have to ask. I'll change your bandages when you're done." You nodded, biting the inside of your mouth. You felt like the tension between you had devolved into something less agonising, but he still had an intensity about him. Closing the door behind you, you realised that it didn't actually have a lock. He must have taken it off. There were certainly limits to the freedoms he gave you, but compared to the facility, you were starting to feel somewhat normal again. 

It was easier with the crutches, maybe not physically but psychologically. 

When you came out of the bathroom, he pointed to the chair and you hesitated for a brief moment, remembering the last time you'd been in it. But you hadn't done anything wrong, he wouldn't hurt you, you were sure of it. You made your way to him, noticing what he had laid out on the table. There were bandages, gauze, adhesive tape, medication, antiseptic wipes and some other items. He shifted out of your way, placing a vial and syringe onto the table. 

When you lowered yourself onto the chair, you gasped as your thigh twinged in pain. Before you could lose your balance, he immediately grabbed onto your waist to stabilise you. You breathed in the heavy scent of ozone, shocked by his speed and how close he was to you. 

He carefully lowered you down, taking the crutches off you and leaning them against the table within your reach. He knelt down in front of you and took off the bandage around your thigh. It didn't look as bad as you thought it should. The wound was more jagged than you'd realised, but seemed to be healing very well. He checked over it, cleaning it up with a wipe that stung a little before wrapping a fresh bandage around your thigh. He moved onto your arm, supporting your elbow with his metal hand as he checked the wound. 

The stubble on his face had grown. There was a mix of white and black hairs, it was thicker above his lips and on his chin. 

You felt. . .calm. For how brutal he had been, there was a tenderness to him that you'd never expected. You watched as he cleaned up the wound, eyes utterly focused on his work. Perhaps it was intensity rather than tenderness. Every moment in his presence, there had been a fervor, a ferocity which had never diminished. Whether he was fighting or killing, or whether he was wrapping a new bandage around your arm, he would apply nothing less than complete concentration, his utmost attention.

There was something disconcerting about that, to have someone with such a severity to their company, but it helped you to understand who he was. You thought back to when you woke up in the truck, with your arms tied to the grab handle above you. It was not only to keep you restrained and controlled, but also to ensure that the wound was raised, to keep you alive.

Means to an end. Methods didn't matter, only the result. His intentions for now were to make sure you healed. He wanted to protect mutants, stop the bad ones, or stop them from becoming bad. But that wasn't quite right. You'd already taken a life, why didn't he stop you then? Why didn't he help you and the kids before you were captured? 

You couldn't help but think about the man you had killed, and what you did to him. At the facility, you'd never really thought about who he was, whether he had a family. You'd been grief-stricken, running on fumes and anger, concentrating on how to escape, on feeling yourself getting stronger day by day. It had been easier to ignore because it wasn't something you'd meant to do, you had to protect the kids, you'd never meant to- 

But now, you were out of that place, you were safe. Safe? Was that even the right word? You repeated it over in your mind and part of you can't find fault with it. He checked the scabbed-over cuts below your shoulders on your arm before getting up off the floor and moving behind you. Now you had the time to think about what you'd done. You had to face up to the fact that you'd taken a life, and that you wanted to take a second, wanted to make Peterson suffer. 

But how did he know? He knew the exact moment when you had found Peterson, but he didn't know about the man you'd killed? He held out the glass of water to you, and handed you a few pills, telling you they were antibiotics. You swallowed them down one by one, watching as he disposed of the old bandages. 

"How did you know I was going to. . ." You faultered for a moment, guilt strangling at you as the image of that man's body shattering kept flashing across your mind. You'd never meant to do that, you were scared more than anything, desperate. But Peterson? You felt nothing but rage. 

"Kill him," you swallowed, ashamed of how out of control you were, how easy it had been to let the anger take you, the ease of the violence you wanted to inflict on him.

"We've all got our powers, right?" he replied, nonchalant about how ambiguous he sounded. You'd thought his powers were his strength, his arm, not that he could see the future. Over the years, you'd heard about all sorts of mutant abilities, precognition being one of them, but you'd never met someone who had it. 

"Do you know everything that's going to happen?" You wondered what it was like for him. Was the future always changing or was everything inevitable? Did he see endless paths of choices being made, of people changing and shifting as time passed? Or was there only one path? Only one unavoidable future? 

He shook his head. "Broad strokes, that's all." If he didn't see everything, then he wouldn't have known what you'd do before the facility captured you. Whoever that man was, he didn't have the sort of power that Peterson did, the influence. You felt grief weigh heavily on your heart. He wasn't important enough, his death didn't register on the grand scheme of things. There was something tragic about that. 

"Is there anything good in the future?" You asked in hope. He paused, raising his head to look at you. His jaw clenched and he didn't respond before breaking eye contact and turning to pick up the syringe and vial from the table. You always thought the world was deteriorating, that the future would be bleak, but to have it confirmed was something else entirely. He filled a quarter of the syringe with what you presumed was the painkiller again. Lower dosage meant he was weaning you off of it. You almost sighed, wishing he'd fill the syringe completely so you wouldn't have to feel anymore. 

He cleaned a small area of your uninjured thigh before injecting the painkiller. He pressed a small bit of gauze on the puncture wound, holding it down with his metal index finger. You didn't look away when he caught you staring. His eyes weren't as dark as you thought they were. His expression seemed to lighten slightly and he lost the tension in his jaw. You felt his warm metal hand rest against your thigh. 

"There could be."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thankyou for reading! Apologies for the delay, more will be coming soon. I have a tumblr with all things Cable, where I also post each chapter of this story, the username is Cable-tied. Also, thankyou for your kudos and comments! They always brighten my day.


	4. Palpable

_It had been a long shift. You sighed as you headed out to your car, thinking about stopping off at the liquor store before driving home. A small apartment that you rented with two other roommates was what you called home for now. Thankfully they didn't mind that you kept to yourself. You didn't think they suspected you of being a mutant, even if they did they were probably too high to give a shit regardless._

_Your feet and arms ached after stocking the shelves for half the evening. You managed to accidentally drop a box of pickle jars too, your boss told you he was going to dock it out of your pay, the asshole. That certainly didn't help your mood either._

_It was past ten at night. A cold breeze whipped across your body as you opened the rear exit for employees. You walked a little faster to your car which was across the lot. As you were about to dig into your pocket for the keys, your eyebrows furrowed._

_Blood. You could sense it. Was someone hurt?_

_You dug into your pocket, finding the car keys and its keyring which had a concealed blade. You pressed it against the tip of your thumb hard enough to break the skin. Your sense for blood spiked outwards and you could feel three people close to you, hiding somewhere, one of them was bleeding. It wasn't severe, but it had been enough for you to pick up on in the first place._

_Concentrating on their blood, you realised that they were kids, rather than adults. The rhythm of their blood was faster, heart rates quicker as they were younger. They were mutants too._

_Scanning over the lot, you couldn't see them anywhere. You starting checking each car, trying to find out if they were hiding behind one of them, or even beneath them. But you couldn't find anyone. You knew they were there, and close too._

_"I know you're there. I can feel you. All three of you," you called out, hoping they would reveal themselves. The rhythm of their blood only got faster, they must have been scared. "Look I'm a mutant too, I know one of you is hurt. Let me help, please." You pulled out the blade, pressing it across the top of your hand to make a small cut. As the blood slowly seeped out from the incision, you concentrated on the small drops and raised them up into the air. Forming the blood into a pair of wings, you let it gradually fly over to where you could feel the kids._

_You spread your arms out to show that you meant no harm and repeated your wishes to help._

_"Elsie no!" You turned round to the voice and saw three kids crouched down by a sedan. One of them must have had the ability to conceal themselves, you didn't see them there before. The youngest of them was holding her hand to reach the wings, that must be Elsie. The eldest pulled her away from you, eyes looking up in fear. The middle-aged one, a boy, seemed to have some sort of ankle injury._

_"I'm not going to hurt you, okay? I've got a med kit in my car, let me get it for you." The eldest tried to hide her fear with an expression of distrust and suspicion, and you thought for a moment that she would outright reject your offer. The boy whispered something to her and Elsie nodded at whatever he said._

_"You're too weak," the eldest protested. You didn't quite catch what the boy's reply was, but it looked as if she had relented to whatever he said._

_"Come over here, Bowen's going to see if you're telling the truth." You approached them slowly, letting the wings settle on Elsie's knee which she seemed to watch avidly. Did Bowen have some sort of lie detection ability?_

_"Closer," the eldest told you. You shuffled closer a few feet, unsure of how close she wanted you. Bowen held out a hand for you, and you took it without hesitating. These kids needed to trust you, you couldn't show doubt. Pain rippled out from the contact and you grunted at the sensation. He pulled back a brief moment later and he nodded to the older girl. He looked paler than before, he must have exerted a lot of effort with his powers._

_The older girl wrapped her arms around him, and asked if you could fetch the med kit, her tone only slightly twinged with distrust now. You headed across the lot to your car, and grabbed the med kit from the dash before hurrying back to them. One leg of Bowen's pants had been pulled up, revealing a serious of gashes around his ankle. There were about four of them, and thankfully none of them looked deep enough to be sutured._

_"We were going through a wire fence, and his leg got caught up in it," the eldest mumbled, her voice filled with worry more than anything now. It sounded as if she blamed herself for it. You nodded, taking in the state of all three of the kids. Elsie tried not to look scared as she curled up against the older girl's side. Bowen had tears in his eyes and you could see his leg trembling slightly. All three of them looked cold, exhausted and like they needed a good meal. You forced yourself to focus, you'd bandage Bowen's ankle and then you'd take them back to your place. Shit, what about your roommates? Worry about it later, sort Bowen out first._

_"This is going to sting a lot, okay? But I need to clean these wounds before I wrap them up," you told Bowen as you put on a nitrile glove to cover your cuts and pulled out the antiseptic liquid from the med kit. You knew from experience that it stung like a bitch. You handed him a piece of gauze to bite down on._

_With one hand holding onto his sneaker, you began to pour the liquid over the wounds and Bowen screamed out, the noise mostly muffled by the gauze. You used wipes to make sure the cuts were properly clean before you started to wrap his ankle with a bandage. You'd tried your best, but he'd gone through a wire fence, chances were he'd get an infection._

_After packing almost everything away into the med kit, you peeled off the glove and quickly wrapped a bandage around your hand. You'd deal with it properly later._

_"I don't have any antibiotics so I'm gonna go buy some, alright?" You gestured to the store. "I don't want you getting an infection. All of you can wait in my car in the meantime. Is that okay?" The younger two, Elsie and Bowen, waited for the eldest's decision on the matter. You wondered what happened to them, why there were alone, obviously on the run from someplace, or someone._

_After the kids got into your car, you walked through the employee back entrance, hoping nobody stopped you along the way. Your bandaged hand was stuffed into a pocket out of view. It's only now that you realised you should have cut yourself somewhere more discreet._

_You gritted your teeth when you spotted your boss berating one of the cashiers, Sophia. She was nice. Why couldn't the bastard leave her alone? Walking over to the pharmacy, the guy working the counter didn't seem to recognise you, and you paid for the antibiotics without incident. You stuffed them into your pocket._

_Sophia had thankfully been left alone and you made your way to the back of the store. Just by the entrance to the employee area, two cops were talking to your boss. You almost faultered in your step. Were they here for you? Fuck you'd been so careful, you'd changed your name, your hair, moved constantly from state to state and kept a practically non-existent profile. After all this time, had they finally caught up to you?_

_You kept walking, keeping your pace steady. Don't hesitate. If they arrested you, they still had to take you to the station, you had time. You detached the keyring with the concealed blade and moved it to your lower back, tucking it under the band of your underwear._

_Before you could open up the door, one of the officers intercepted you._

_"Excuse me, do you work here?" Before you could reply, your boss spoke, letting the cops know that you were in fact an employee and that your shift ended over twenty minutes ago. The relief of the cops not being there for you was quickly consumed by irritation at your boss' indignant tone._

_The officer asked if he could speak to you for a moment, it wasn't a question as much as it was a command. He pulled you aside and you let your annoyance show on your expression. Rather that than nerves. He'd assume it was for your boss, he had a knack for rubbing people up the wrong way._

_"Are you heading off home?" He asked politely, as if you were old friends. The cops liked to lull people into a false sense of security, a facade of friendliness and trust so that they could extract precisely what they needed from you._

_"Yeah," you replied, hoping he wouldn't question why your hand was in your pocket. You considered putting your other hand into your pocket, but you didn't want to draw his attention to it. "Was the store robbed or something?"_

_"No, nothing like that. Have you seen any kids hanging around here? A group of three, two girls, one boy?" You ignored the tightening in your chest and made yourself give a detached, honest answer._

_"I mean we had some problems with some teenagers who'd graffiti the walls out back but, they haven't been around for a while."_

_"They're mostly younger these kids. The two girls, one is eight years old, the other is fifteen, and the boy is eleven. Have you seen any kids of that age around the store over the last few days?"_

_You shook your head. "The teenagers were generally older, sixteen, seventeen. Kids your describing seem a bit young to be causing trouble. They runaways or something?"_

_The cop hesitated in his reply, eyes dropping away for a brief moment. "We're just making sure that they're safe."_

_He asked you a couple more questions, but didn't probe any further about the kids._

_"Something wrong with your hand?" He queried, raising his eyebrows at you. Pulling out your hand, you showed him the bandage before regaling that you'd dropped a box of pickle jars earlier. Thankfully he seemed satisfied with your answer. The cop told you to call 911 if you did spot the kids and you smiled at him before heading off through the back. Your heart was pounding with each step. You pulled the keyring from your underwear and attached it back onto your car keys._

_The cold air was a relief after the close call with the cops. As you hurried over to your car, you couldn't see any of the kids. Had they booked it? Or where they just hiding? When you reached the driver's side, you saw them lying on the back seats, Elsie and Bowen were tucked underneath the older girl's arms. Thankfully they'd made use of the spare blanket you'd kept in the back._

_Wherever they'd been before. . .they really didn't want to go back. They weren't leaving anything to chance. How long had they been evading the cops? Did they escape from police custody or from one of those mutant rehabilitation homes that might as well have been called prisons?_

_You got into your car, scanning over the lot for anyone else heading home before turning round to talk._

_"Cops are looking for you," you told them, and they visibly stiffened at your words. "They were in the store asking about you. Don't worry, I didn't tell them anything. But we need to leave now. I'm going to take you back to my apartment, alright?" The younger two looked scared and the eldest was trying her best to keep it together. She could only nod at you._

_You started up the engine and pulled out of the back lot, keeping the car slow. As you drove round to the front of the store, you swore under your breath when you spotted the cops by the entrance. They spotted your car and gestured for you to pull over behind their cruiser._

_"Keep your heads down no what happens," you muttered to them, keeping your lips stiff. The cops didn't have their guns drawn which was to your advantage. It meant they were suspicious, had more questions, but didn't know who you were or that you were on the run. They didn't know the kids were hiding in the back. What had tipped them off? Shit. . .of course, your fucking boss. Your lie about cutting your hand on the pickle jars must not have panned out if the cop had asked him about it, he would have sworn blind that no such injury had taken place in his workplace. The asshole._

_As your car came to a stop, they were about twenty yards from you, both approaching in no particular rush. Turning off the engine, you grabbed the keyring and used its blade to cut into your hand deeper than before. You felt out to them, feeling the blood pumping through their bodies, the rhythms of their hearts before you made them both pass out onto the ground._

_Quickly getting out of the car, you ran over to them and pulled the sidearms out of their holsters, tucking both into the back of your pants. In the process of handcuffing one of them, they were both starting to come around so you immediately pulled the blood from their brains again._

_It was more difficult without gravity to help you. The strain was palpable and you started to feel dizzy from the effort. Forcing through it, you made them collapse again, and handcuffed the other before taking one of their radios and one of their utility knives. You managed to grab one of their spare magazines too when they became conscious._

_"Stay down!" You shouted, taking out a gun and aiming it at them. Walking towards their cruiser, you used the knife to deflate one of their tires. One of them told you that you were making a big mistake, and not to make things worse for yourself. He got up onto his knees, so you told him to lay down on his side. The anger was smeared across his face and he reluctantly complied. Fucker was planning to move on you._

_You scanned over the lot for any bystanders and only saw two women quite a ways away, watching the scene before them, one of them already on the phone. Moving backwards to your car, you flicked off the safety and fired two warning shots onto the ground. The cops were quick to lay flat onto the ground and you got into your car. They didn't get up when you gunned it past them, but it looked as if they were trying to undo the handcuffs._

_You thought that you'd rather make things worse for yourself than give anyone else the chance to._

\- - -

You'd been thinking about the first time you met the kids when he came out of the bathroom. After you'd spoken to him the day before, he pulled away from you and went back to his work without saying anything else. You let your thoughts keep you occupied over the next couple hours until he gave you more food.

When you woke up the next day, you vaguely remembered dreaming about the kids, and you couldn't help but wonder whether they were okay. Whether they were in one of the mutant rehabilitation homes again. Your heart ached for them, they'd been so scared of that place, the one they'd managed to escape from. It took weeks for them to be able to tell you everything.

Reese had been good at hiding her fear, and it took her the longest to open up to you. With Elsie and Bowen, she had driven her feelings aside so that she could take care of them. You remember one night in a motel room when the younger two were asleep, she had practically broken down from the pressure of it all. She was far too young to carry such a burden, she hadn't had the chance to be a kid. You tried your best to help her, shift the responsibilities onto your shoulders. You'd grown up too fast, had to look after yourself too young.

It wasn't something you'd wish on anyone. 

He must have showered or taken a bath, the smell of damp and soap followed him out of the bathroom. He was fully clothed with a shirt and pants practically identical to what he'd been wearing before. His hair was wet, and slicked back as it usually was. His face was clean-shaven. Before he left the bedroom, you couldn't help but blurt out a question. 

"You're trying to help mutants, right?" He paused mid-step, turning slowly to face you, and grunting in a tone of vague agreement. You sat up in the bed, making sure the sheets covered everything below the waist. "Before the facility took me, there were some kids I was looking after. Mutant kids." You paused when his face seemed to tighten and there was almost anger in his eyes. 

"I don't know where they were taken. They might be at the facility still, I have to go get them." He didn't respond for a long while and you wondered if you'd have to resort to begging. He cycled through expressions you couldn't read before his jaw clenched and his eyes seemed to go oddly blank. 

"I need to make sure they're. . .they're okay," you told him, hoping that he would understand or that he would listen to you at the very least. He merely rubbed his lips together before walking out of the bedroom without saying a word. What did that mean? Why was it so difficult to read him? If he had broken into the facility, he might have gone past the cell blocks where the mutants were held, he might have seen the kids. Wouldn't he help you? Wasn't he trying to help mutants? Make the future better?

When he brought out another sandwich for you, you held it in your hand without eating it. Having an appetite was the last thing in your mind. Instead, you waited for an actual response.

"You need to eat," he told you, gesturing to the food as he stood by the bed. 

"I need to find the kids," you replied. His metal hand snatched your wrist with a speed that shocked you, and he forcibly brought the sandwich up to your mouth, easily maneuvering the limb regardless of your resistance. 

"You are going to eat," he growled, gradually increasing the pressure around your wrist. For a moment you thought he wouldn't stop until he crushed your bones. You whimpered helplessly in pain and reluctantly bit into the sandwich. You kept chewing until the bread turned into paste in your mouth and he only let go when you swallowed it down. 

He hovered by the side of the bed, watching you eat the sandwich bite after bite. Each mouthful was a struggle, you could barely taste anything but mush as you chewed. Your wrist ached every time you brought it up to your lips, you knew you'd have bruises from his grip. The thoughts in your head drifted back to the facility when they force fed you the protein mix. It made eating even harder and for a moment you thought you might be sick. In your peripheral vision, you could see him shift towards you slightly in response to your hesitation, so you took a large bite out of the sandwich and kept going until you finished. 

He finally turned away from you and took a seat on the chair to work on something that was splayed out across the table. You maneuvered yourself out of bed and went to the bathroom with your crutches. At least there you could be free of his overbearing presence. You thought you'd made progress with him, formed something of a mutual respect and you understood why he'd brought you here in the first place. 

You'd thought you had worked out the lines he'd drawn which you weren't allowed to cross, but you couldn't quite grasp where they were just yet. You felt like you'd just lost all the ground you'd gained with him.

Half an hour must have passed and he hadn't disturbed you once. You were sitting on the edge of the bathtub and you started to wonder how long you could wait him out. Would he come in and forcibly take you, shove you on the bed and demand that you rest? The bastard had been pretty adamant about your recovery. Eat. Rest. Force fed. Drugged.

Was he was trying to help you? Was this the only way he knew how? It was like he worked with absolutes, with missions that had to be accomplished no matter the consequences or the fallout. Why had a question about the kids caused such a reaction? You didn't understand.

If he didn't want to help you find the kids, you'd do it yourself. You had to get out of this place, but you'd need to be able to walk unassisted for that. 

Taking to your feet with your crutches, you slowly put some weight on your bad leg and winced as the pain got worse. You gritted your teeth and pushed yourself further until you were breathing heavily and desperately trying to keep yourself from crying out in pain. The wound in your thigh was throbbing and you half collapsed back down onto the edge of the bathtub, unable to take anymore. You had barely put any weight on your leg and you were wrecked. 

The desperation and hopelessness hit you all at once and it's suffocating. Fuck they'd probably be dead by the time you managed to find them.

But what if they were alive? What if they were living at some mutant home, being degraded and violated for who they were? For the X-gene which was deemed such an abberation. You forced yourself to think of them, to let the rage burn inside of you. Things had been worse at the facility and you made it through that place. This would be the same, another hurdle, another place to escape. 

Another waiting game. 

\- - -

Things were. . .better the next day. When you woke up, there was an old, boxy TV on the table. Instead of eating in bed, he said that you'd be having lunch in the kitchen. You followed him out of the bedroom into a small living space with a worn out sofa and empty shelves on the walls. You saw what must be the front door and the padlock keeping it tightly secured. It was unsettling. The cell may be bigger, might not be padded or have bars, might look like a normal apartment, but it was still a cell.

Bags were scattered on the outer edges by the walls, a rifle was sticking out of one of them, rounds of ammunition poking out of another. You spotted a few jerrycans, clothes, batteries and tool boxes as well. As you walked past the sofa, you noticed a worn teddy bear sitting on the arm of the sofa, and you wondered who it had belonged to. Is this where he'd been sleeping? 

There were empty beer cans strewn on the floor too, most centred around the sofa. An open plan kitchen area was at the back with two chairs and a compact dining table by the refrigerator.

Before you could sit down, he held out the chair for you, and you managed to lower yourself down without him helping, without him touching you. Leaning the crutches against the wall, you wondered why was he being so. . .polite. 

"Eggs alright?" He asked, pulling a frying pan out from the cupboard. There were a few bottles of sauce on the table, salt, pepper, some butter and a very blunt-looking knife. You were uncertain of the situation, trying to figure out why he was being nice when he'd lashed out yesterday.

Fuck, you hated being in such an uncertain situation, unsure when he'd explode on you again, not knowing what you did wrong. He looked at you, and you nodded quickly, stuttering a yes and a please at him too, making sure he received the verbal response he undoubtedly wanted.

His eyes seemed to narrow at you, mouth twitching, his expression was unclear. He turned away and starting cooking some eggs, a lot of eggs. He made some toast too. You watched him silently and felt calmer that he was occupied with something else other than you. You couldn't get used to the intensity of his attention. There was something carnal about it, like things would always end in pain with him.

You sat with your shoulders hunched, wishing you could cover up your legs. But you supposed that was part of all this. Lack of clothes was a method of degradation, of control. It was certainly something he seemed to excel at. 

He brought over the toast to put in the middle of the table along with some cutlery, sharp knives not included. He then placed a glass of water and a plate in front of you. By the cooker, he loaded his own plate up with eggs before coming over and giving you the rest. He took a seat and slathered the eggs with hot sauce, the smell made your nose wrinkle. You were hungry, but remembering what had happened yesterday was starting to make you lose your appetite.

You didn't want him to force you again, so you kept yourself looking busy by buttering the toast slowly, and cutting up your eggs into pieces. He ate as if he hadn't had anything for a week, he barely came up for breath. His eyes would flick up at you now and again, probably checking you weren't refusing to eat. 

When he finished, he headed over to the sink and started washing up, cleaning down the counter. It was only with his back turned that you felt steady enough to eat. After managing to finish everything on your plate, and draining the whole glass of water, he took both from you to wash. 

You stared at the metal crawling up the back of his neck, it was like the vertebrae were made of metal and it had been fused into his skin-

"Come on," he told you as he turned around and gestured to the bedroom. You followed him out of the kitchen, eyes wondering over to the front door. It was only a matter of time. He handed you the remote for the TV, telling you to watch whatever you wanted before leaving you alone again. Instead of getting back in bed, you pulled the chair further away from the TV before sitting down.

You were starting to fucking hate that bed. Flicking through the stations, you settled on the news, hoping to work out what day it was, what month it was. The news reports cycled through stories of gang violence and murder, tragic car accidents, mutants attacking innocent bystanders, political controversy, the latest celebrity break up, economic woes and foreign policy quibbles.

Nothing had changed. You're not quite sure what you expected to be different. You felt like the facility had created this giant chasm in your life, Elsie, Bowen and Reese had been taken away from you and yet the world went about its business. 

It always would. 

Your thigh started aching and the news wasn't enough of a distraction anymore. Going through the channels, you settled on some cartoons, trying to imagine that the kids would want a full report on everything that happened, so you made yourself concentrate. It played a few episodes of the same show, so you assumed the station was playing a marathon. During one of the commercial breaks, your attention strayed away from the TV after watching the same commercial for the tenth time. 

Looking around the bedroom, your heart started pounding when you saw him. He stood by the door, silently watching you. How long had he been standing there? You didn't hear a thing. You realised where you were sitting and what had happened before, you remembered the feeling of his metal fingers in your mouth, the way they pressed down onto your tongue, the water welling up in your eyes as you started to gag. 

Were you allowed to sit here? Would he punish you for not resting in bed? Before scrambling for your crutches, he came over to you, handing you some pills and a glass of water which you hadn't noticed him holding. After swallowing them down, he placed the water on the bedside table.

You wondered whether you should have asked what you were taking, whether you should have refused, just to see how much pain he could inflict. You knew you deserved to suffer for what you had done, but this wasn't about you. The kids were waiting for you, relying on you. You'd play the obedient captive.

It certainly wouldn't be difficult to show how wary and anxious you felt around him. He'd underestimate you, everyone always did. 

"I'm going to run a bath for you," he mumbled, eyes dropping down to your legs, you tried not to squirm. "Got you some new clothes. I'll change your bandages when you're clean." He walked into the bathroom and then you heard the water running. You wondered how this was going to play out with a sense of escalating dread. You watched him go into the living room next door and he came back with a bag of clothes.

"Come on," he ushered, head tilting towards the bathroom. Taking to your crutches, you followed him in. There was a towel on the heater, underneath it was the bag of clothes. He sat on the edge of the bathtub, as you had yesterday, and motioned with his flesh hand for you to come closer. Blood started rushing to your ears, was he going to undress you? Lift you into the bath and clean you himself? Could you really go through with this? In your hesitation, he let out a sigh and moved towards you.

You squeezed your eyes shut, tensing your body in preparation for him to hit you, hands clenching onto the crutches. You felt his hands on your thigh and looked down to see what he was doing. He was kneeling down in front of you, carefully unwrapping the bandage, his head leaning close towards you. 

He hummed when he took it off, and it was positive-sounding if anything. With both hands either side of the wound, he shifted even closer to inspect how it was healing. Both of his hands were warm, really warm, and it felt as if the ache in your thigh was starting to ease. 

Something in the back of your mind registered the situation as intimate. 

"You're healing fast," he told you, taking his hands off you. In response, you managed a shrug, it didn't feel like you were doing anything fast. He took to his feet, telling you it'd be easier to take the bandage off your arm without the crutches in the way. You couldn't argue his logic, and took a seat on the tub where he'd been. He sat down next you, took your arm and unwrapped the bandage. 

You'd only purposely went for an artery once before, the day the facility found you. When you had used your powers, your blood to save the kids but ended up taking a life instead. Upon meeting him, this nameless mutant who'd never mentioned what he was called, you'd cut into two, within minutes of each other. 

He held your arm out, eyes raking over the wound which seemed to be healing well. He grunted softly before reaching round to turn the water off and taking to his feet, or rather to his boots which he never seemed to take off. 

"Let me know when you're done or if you need me." He hesitated before leaving the bathroom. "If you need my help," he corrected before shutting the door behind him. You let out a deep sigh, running your hand through the hot water. The soap he'd used clouded the water to a murky white. 

He wouldn't come in if you didn't ask him to, somehow you were certain of that.

Shedding yourself of the sleeveless shirt and boxers, you positioned yourself at the end of the tub and started to slide down into the water while gripping onto the handles. You sank down into the bath and groaned at the pleasant sensation. 

Closing your eyes, you submerged yourself completely for a few moments before coming back out of the water. You washed your hair and the rest of your body before settling down and trying to relax, but your mind was racing. 

You couldn't help but fixate on him. He seemed to be dealing with some sort of conflict, but you couldn't work out how it related to the kids. His focus seemed to be solely on your recovery. Did putting efforts into finding them somehow negate that? It didn't make sense. At least things had been better than yesterday. He gave you more space, let you bath alone, showed you the apartment beyond the bedroom and the bathroom. 

It may have given the impression of more allowances, but it could easily have been a way to placate you, make you more willing to comply. It wouldn't be beneficial to your recovery if he had to inflict pain when you refused to obey his orders. 

The water had gotten cold, so you drained out the tub and managed to heave yourself up without slipping. You took your time getting out of the bathtub and let out a sigh when you'd managed to grab the warm towel. Using one of the crutches, you dragged over the bag of clothes and rummaged through what he'd given you. There were shirts, gym pants, shorts, underwear, tank tops, even socks. It looked as if they were all his clothes, but at least they were clean.

After drying yourself and putting on the underwear first, you realised that he'd still need to bandage you, so you didn't bother with the pants. You slipped on some socks and a t-shirt before putting the gym pants and a sweatshirt over your shoulder and heading through the door.

It was cooler in the bedroom. He was sitting on the chair, med kit spread out over the table by the TV. The bed had been made, the sheets looked different, cleaner, he must have changed them. You ignored the odd swell of gratitude and sat on the bed. As he bandaged your thigh and your arm, there seemed to be less tension in his body. 

Part of you wanted to trust him. It constantly bubbled up inside you, telling you that he wanted to help, that his intentions were good even if his actions weren't. He had shown moments of kindness, told you the truth when it would have been advantageous to lie. When you looked at him, it was becoming more difficult to see him as the person who had almost killed you, but rather the person who had saved you from hurting countless others. Your pain, your suffering was merely collateral.

The fear of him was beginning to be explained away in the back of your mind, it was your fault, you didn't understand, you didn't even deserve to be free after what you'd done. 

You pulled away from him the moment he'd finished and moved to the other side of the bed, slipping on the pants and sweatshirt you'd brought with you. Eyes fixed to the floor, you had to ignore the pointless and conflicting thoughts about him. None of it mattered, he didn't matter. He wasn't waiting for you, he didn't care about you. 

He wasn't your family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is the longest story I've written in nearly a decade! I am just really slow at writing and get easily distracted with other stories, but I'm so determined with this fic. I need to get it out of me. Apologies for delays in between chapters, I'm trying my best. 
> 
> I have a Cable blog on tumblr called Cable-tied, and I've started a taglist for this fic. If you'd like me to add you, drop me a message and you'll get notified when the next chapter is up. Thankyou so much for reading, please feel free to let me know what you think! :D


	5. Hesitation

The days started to merge into each other. It was all the same. You'd wake up, he'd make you food and eat with you in the kitchen, you'd watch TV, then you'd hide in the bathroom to take long baths, work on your thigh and kneed your fingers into the muscle. At least now you could stand on both feet. It was painful and you could only manage a few steps, but it was progress.

After you finished in the bathroom, he'd change your bandages. He was meticulous with the way he'd inspect the healing wounds, his warm hands touching you carefully. If you closed your eyes, you could barely tell the difference between metal and flesh. His metal fingers were smoother but still had texture to them. Their dexterity was unparalleled. Was it a secondary mutation to his precognition?

You didn't ask. He didn't speak much.

He expressed himself mostly with grunts and the intensity of his gaze. A short, lower-sounding grunt with uninterrupted eye contact was frustration or displeasure. Those were mostly directed at things he was working on, occasionally when you didn't eat everything on your plate. He seemed satisfied if you ate the vast majority of your food. He never had to force feed you again, he'd taught that lesson well.

There were slightly prolonged grunts that sounded more like hums which were paired with slightly less intensive eye contact. Those ones usually meant satisfaction and occurred when he was eating or when he was looking at how you were healing. Whenever you left the bedroom, he'd be cleaning his weapons, taking stock of ammunition and working on devices that were probably explosives.

Sometimes he sat motionless, eyes following you carefully. You only spotted him drinking beer a couple times, he didn't seem particularly enamoured by the taste. Sometimes his eye would glow, whether he was frustrated or satisfied didn't seem to make a difference to when it would spark with light. For as much as he could be unsettling, you were starting to get used to his company. He never grabbed you again. He didn't need to, you did as he asked.

There was only one more rule, to keep away from the windows. He mentioned that one morning when you wandered over to get a closer look at the sky. It was mostly clear of clouds and it was vivid blue. You'd stared at plain white walls for weeks at the facility, seeing such an expanse of colour was. . .it had you in awe. He opened up the blinds, so you sat on the chair gazing out at the sky beyond the city's buildings.

There were other rules left unspoken, don't try to run, don't try to escape.

Often when you woke in the middle of the night, you'd go into the kitchen with your crutches for a drink. You weren't usually thirsty, you were trying to work out when he actually slept. But he was always working on something or just sitting there, staring. There was always tension in his expression, like he was on the precipice between anger and pain.

Any chance of escape would have to happen while he was showering in the bathroom. It was the only opportunity you had when he wasn't by the front door.

One night, you woke up with a parched throat and grabbed the glass on the bedside table before realising you'd finished it before you went to sleep. You slipped out of bed, put a sweatshirt on and picked up your crutches. As you wandered out of the bedroom, you couldn't see him anywhere. He wasn't on the sofa, wasn't in the kitchen cooking himself a late night snack. He was. . .gone.

You immediately went over to the front door and tried the handle. Shit, it didn't budge. He must have locked it from the outside. You frantically looked around the apartment for something to pry the door open. Using blood would be a last resort, you'd need everything you had to take him on if it came to it, and even then your best option would be to restrain him as you did before. You couldn't stop him, but you could slow him down.

You rushed over to one of the tool boxes, searching for a hammer to knock out the door hinges. You stopped moving, hearing a rattling noise by the front door. You hurried into the bedroom and closed the door as silently as possible. Holding your breath, you moved backwards before your crutches hit the bed and maneuvered yourself under the covers. Thankfully the mattress didn't creak under your weight.

Your lungs were starting to burn so you let the air escape your mouth slowly. Ten seconds later he opened the door. Clenching your eyes shut, you pretended you were asleep, keeping your breaths as slow as possible.

A few tense moments passed, the door clicked shut. Fuck that was close. Before you began to chastise yourself for not being faster, you wondered what you would have been able to do next. You'd managed to open the door and what? How far would you have made it down the hallway? He would have brought you back and these. . .freedoms you enjoyed, he'd take them all away. He'd restrain you to the chair, put the gag into your mouth to fix it open. He'd tie you to the bed to keep you from moving anywhere without his explicit consent. 

You had to think this through, you had to do this right.

You wouldn't get a second chance.

-

Bowen was shaking with fear, his eyes were wide, he was assimilating too much emotion. Elsie was utterly terrified and couldn't stop screaming. And Reese. . .she was frozen in shock, unable to process what was happening.

You reached out to them, but their fear only intensified. Reese cowered away from you, held out both her arms to protect the other two. Desperately calling out to them, they simply shifted further away from you. Elsie's screaming only got louder and Bowen's knees buckled underneath him. He collapsed onto the ground. Reese crouched down to grasp onto his shoulders, protect him as best she could. 

What the fuck was happening?

Holding out an arm towards them, you noticed it was covered in blood, and not just your arms, the blood was everywhere. Couldn't you use your powers to help them? What were they so afraid of?

You called out to them again, saying that you'd protect them, that it would all be okay. A figure then appeared from behind the kids and moved closer until you recognised their face. It was him, the mutant. Elsie became silent as he walked passed them. You tried to push him away and to stop his approach but your powers weren't working. 

You couldn't stop him. You couldn't ever stop him.

His flesh hand wrapped around the back of your neck before you could retreat.

"Can't let you hurt them," he spoke softly, shaking his head slightly.

Suddenly your body spasmed, the air whooshed out of your mouth. You couldn't. . .you couldn't breathe. Looking down in utter horror, his metal arm was buried inside your chest up to the elbow.

He had. . .he had. . .

A hand cupped under your chin and tilted it upwards. You saw behind him that the kids were no longer scared, they looked. . .relieved. He hushed you softly, his thumb wiping across your cheek before he rested his forehead on yours. 

Black spots were forming across your vision, you couldn't. . .you couldn't feel your body anymore. All you could smell was ozone and blood. He let out a deep sigh before whispering to you.

"You should have trusted me."

-

You woke up covered with sweat, muscles tense as if your body had been bracing itself. All you could hear was your heart thudding in your ear. There was a growing pressure in your lungs and it took you a few moments to realise you'd been holding your breath. You exhaled, and began taking in deep breaths to calm yourself down.

Your mind kept replaying the nightmare over and over. The kids' fear, his soft words, the way his metal arm had punched right through your body, that heavy, earthy scent of blood and ozone. You couldn't remember the last time you'd dreamt something so vivid. You didn't want to go back to sleep. Though he'd told you before to stay away from the windows, you couldn't help going up to them and peeking through the blinds. 

The sky was black, no stars were visible, you couldn't see any clouds either. Lights from the buildings and the streets illuminated the city as far as you could see. You were too high up to draw the attention of anyone below. You didn't recognise the buildings, you didn't know where you were.

It's difficult not to drown in the growing helplessness that seemed to get worse with each passing day. You wondered whether you could open the window and-

You got back into bed, wrapping the sheets around your body. You couldn't die, you weren't allowed to die.

You had to live. You had to fucking live.

\- - -

The next morning, you were sitting at the small dining table across from him. You couldn't help but stare at his metal arm. For all its human-like imitation, its strength was far beyond anything flesh could produce. There wasn't any doubt in your mind that he could punch through someone's body, through muscle and bone. Could he do that to you one day? What if he found you when you tried to escape and no longer felt you were worth the trouble? He caught you staring, so you turned away, concentrating on eating some breakfast.

He'd already finished his food, but hadn't yet got up to clean as he usually did. Something was wrong. You tried to keep eating but he was watching you intently. His stare was almost physical, the way it cut through you. Had you done something wrong? Shit, did he know that you'd looked through the blinds last night? Why didn't he stop you then? Were there cameras in the bedroom? You laid the fork on the table, no longer able to eat.

His stubble had grown back.

"What are their names?" He asked. You stared at him incredulously, your mind blank for a few moments before you realised he must have been talking about the kids. You quickly started recounting their birth names, physical descriptions, fake identities you'd managed to buy for them. You told him about their abilities, how Reese had gotten you out of places you didn't want to be.

"Reese can hide in people's peripheral vision and can hide anyone that touches her. Most people don't notice her, just the trained ones. It started out that she couldn't easily hide from cops, but she's got real good at it. Now it's the only the feds, Sentinel Services, people like that who can spot her. . . " You trailed off, becoming aware of the fact that you hadn't spoken this much in weeks. Your throat was dry.

His eyes dropped away from you to the table for a few moments before looking right at you with his heavy gaze.

"I know some people that might be able to help," he grumbled and your mouth parted open in shock. Why had he changed his mind? Fuck. . .he was going to help, he was really going to help you find the kids. The hope swelled inside of your chest and you almost wanted to smile.

"No promises," he told you, swiftly cutting off any small happiness that had started to grow. You nodded, understanding that it would be a difficult task. Places like the facility were off the books, dressed up on the outside as normal corporations or businesses. Their staff were handsomely paid and loyal to boot. They wouldn't spill any secrets without serious persuasion.

He headed over to the sink to clean and you felt. . .you felt invigorated, oddly energised. There was a niggling thought in the back of your mind, preening itself at his words. Your gut feeling to trust him was right, of course he'd help you, he only wanted to help. His intentions had always been good even if his actions weren't. You ignored the thoughts and reminded yourself that you were his captive. The padlock on the front door was a clear reminder of that fact.

\- - - 

You felt better over the next few days. His willingness to help had undoubtedly lifted your mood. The anxiety you felt about the kids had waned somewhat, and your thoughts weren't devoted to your escape. 

But the days wore on. 

Time passed without another mention from him about the kids. You became so conflicted. Your gut trusted him, trusted that he would keep his word and ask his people to find the kids. You never heard him on the phone. Why would he wait until you were asleep? Surely if he wanted to placate you, and show he was really trying to help, he'd do it within earshot.

One morning, you couldn't wait any longer. You walked into the living room, watching him pick up a rifle before sitting down on the sofa. Holding onto your crutches, you waited for him to look up at you.

“You hear anything from your people?” He blinked at you, his face was blank.

“About the kids?” There was a flicker of something in his expression, you couldn't guess what it was. He looked away, shaking his head and resting the rifle across his lap.

“Nothing yet,” he mumbled, still not looking up at you. He used a bullet to push a pin out at the back of the rifle, close to the rear grip. After pulling it free, he pushed another pin out by the front grip, and separated the rifle into two pieces.

You waited for a while, in case he was going to add anything else, but he was quiet as he always was. After wandering back into the bedroom, you stared at the TV, not really taking in what you were watching as you thought about how he'd responded. From your experience, he'd always look directly at you and you'd know he was being honest. Never once had you believed he'd lied. But now?

Part of you believed him at face value, but doubt was taking hold with every passing hour.

It took you the better part of two days to come to the realisation that he wasn't telling you the truth. There was something inside of you that was utterly determined to believe him, to believe that he was trying to help. Overcoming that had been difficult, but you managed to focus your efforts back onto escape.

The next time he showered, you rushed into the living room, searching through the bags strewn across the floor. You stared at the guns for a brief moment, wondering why he hadn't locked them away. It would be pointless, his shield could probably deflect bullets just like your own. He assumed you wouldn't be stupid enough to try.

Forcing yourself to focus, you kept looking, careful not to move things out of their place. 

You kept doing that, day after day, to see what you would be useful to take. At night, when you were alone in the bedroom with the door closed, you'd walk around the bed with the crutches held up off the floor. You were limping and you were unsteady, but it was improving all the time. In a few more days, you might be able to go faster if you really pushed it. You couldn't take the crutches beyond the apartment building. Anything further was too much of a risk. He'd spot you.

One day while he was showering, you found a plastic bag with rolls of cash at the bottom, underneath some oily rags. You balked at the sight of it. There was easily more than fifteen grand, it was made up of tens and twenties. Your chances had improved significantly. Money meant you could disappear more easily. You could buy clothes, buy a ticket out of the city. You wouldn't have to steal food to keep you going and risk being captured, by him or the cops.

Would he know you'd take the cash? You couldn't push your luck. You'd avoid large purchases, no hotels, no second hand cars. The money was an asset you could not exploit. When you'd left the city far behind, you could use it to find some old contacts, bribe them if you had to for their help. 

But. . .would you even make it that far? 

Every night as you laid in bed, the anxiety got even worse. You questioned why you'd try to escape from someone who you couldn't stop. Someone skilled, trained, and uncompromising. You'd only managed to slow him down at the facility, when you'd wrapped the blood around his neck like a collar. It had held for what. . .two minutes maybe? You didn't know, you blacked out when the wall exploded and you collapsed onto the ground. It would be pointless going for the arm, it was too strong.

From wrist to elbow, there was orange light by the wiring or. . .tubes that connected to his hand. It was were the shield came from, but you'd also noticed a strand of red. Was that blood? 

It was so difficult to get a bead on him. He was like a void to your perception. It felt strange. With the kids, if you pricked your thumb you'd be roughly aware of how far away they were, whether they were scared or excited from the rhythm of their blood. 

But your perception was limited, it only reached out to a certain point. You sensed the kids slightly further away than strangers as you'd become so familiar with them. If they went beyond fifty yards, or if they shut themselves into a closed room, the feelings would fade into nothing and you'd lose them. Without using any blood, that distance diminished by more than half, and you could only sense someone being in the same room as you. You couldn't sense rhythm or heart rate, but you still knew they were there.

You'd thought it was mostly background information that your subconscious took in. Sight and sound were the prominent senses. It didn't occur to you how important it was to how you perceived the world until you'd met him. You'd always been able to sense someone's blood, but not him. It felt wrong, like your vision was blurry, like you were losing hearing in one ear, as if it was numbness, deficiency. 

That day he put the TV in the bedroom, when you were watching some cartoons, you hadn't seen or heard him approach. He stood by the doorway, eyes fixated on you. You hadn't felt anything. It made you uncomfortable to lack that awareness of him. Even with your powers you hadn't sensed his blood, his heart, or an emotional state you could roughly guess, rather than actually feel like Bowen. 

What if you introduced the blood into his system? You were a universal donor, it would be compatible. It would take a while for his body to process through the blood, it would give you more time. But you'd only be able to feel him when he was in a certain proximity. . .if he got that close to you in the first place it would be too late. 

You'd go for his neck as you had before at the facility, wrap the blood around his throat. It wouldn't work for long, but it should give you enough time to get out.

How many floors up was the apartment? Would there be an elevator? Could you manage the stairs? How quickly could you get together some supplies before you left? The questions kept circling in your mind and they seemed to multiply with every passing minute. Certain factors were out of your control, you couldn't do anything about how high up the apartment was, and you'd have to manage the stairs if it came to it.

You would need to retrieve and pack everything as quickly as possible. There wouldn't be time to look for things you hadn't already located. The med kit, some clothes, the cash and a bag to put it all in. That was it. You had yet to find something to pry the door open, or the key to its padlock. You'd blast through it with blood, you'd take down the whole fucking door if you had to. 

To cut yourself, you would need to break a glass, as he'd rid the whole apartment of sharp objects. There were pistols, machine guns, rifles, shotguns, even a fucking grenade launcher, but no knives. Maybe when you'd escaped from this place you would be able to find the amusement in that. 

You answered each question that came to mind methodically, ignoring what was beyond your knowledge or control. You ignored the ever-present worries about what could go wrong, what you might have miscalculated. A calm began to settle over your mind.

You could do this. You just had to wait for the right moment.

\- - -

He headed to the bathroom, a towel slung over his shoulder and some fresh clothes in his hand. You were in bed, watching a mid-afternoon talk show on the TV. As the door clicked shut, you knew it was time. Blood started rushing into your ears as you waited a few moments until he turned the shower on. The moment you heard it, you grabbed the crutches and headed out of the bedroom, shutting the door quietly behind you. Laying the crutches on the sofa, you walked into the kitchen, grabbing a glass out of the cupboard and letting out a shaky breath.

You were going to do this, you were really going to fucking do- 

The bedroom door opened before you could smash the glass into the sink. He stood holding a syringe, expression filled with muted anger, eyes hard and unforgiving. A part of you wanted to shrivel up and hide, but a determination began to seep into you. He wasn't going to decide what would happen to you anymore.

You both stood unmoving for a few long moments as he slowly shook his head, a silent warning. The glass was too strong to crush in your palm, and you couldn't break the glass without him getting to you before you could cut yourself first. You'd use your last resort, as you had before. As you bit into your cheek, he ran towards you, launching himself over the sofa. Spitting the blood out of your mouth, you hurled it at him to wrap around his neck. He raised his shield, but you immediately maneuvered around it and took hold of his throat. The shield whined as it dissipated into his arm. 

He was only a few steps away when you'd managed to stop him from getting any closer. He growled as he used both his hands to try and rip off the restraint you'd created. You threw the glass onto the floor and took one of the shards to cut above your elbow. 

You held out both your hands, using more blood to strengthen out the collar. He was fighting hard to break free and you could feel him struggling to wrap his metal fingers underneath the restraint. You grunted in exertion as you drove him down onto the floor. Cutting into your skin again, you attached the blood onto the floor so he wouldn't be able to get up.

You stumbled away from him, dizzy and exhausted from using your powers. Leaning against the counter, you realised you couldn't see the syringe. It wasn't on the floor, so you assumed he still had it. You carefully moved around him, not getting within his reach in case he tried to inject you.

When you were clear, you emptied out a backpack filled with magazine clips and quickly threw in the med kit. There wasn't enough time to bandage the cuts on your arms. You began to fill the backpack with some clothes, you might not get the chance to buy new ones. Shirts, pants, underwear, socks, sweatshirts, and. . .shit you didn't have any shoes. Why hadn't you thought about fucking shoes?

You grabbed an extra pair of socks before moving to the bag filled with cash. You'd have to buy shoes, and something warmer than a sweatshirt. Pocketing a couple rolls of bills, you picked up your crutches from the sofa and headed to the door, backpack slung over your shoulders. You blasted through the padlock and grabbed onto the handle when you heard him call out to you.

"You can't run from me," he growled, voice strained with exertion and filled with rage. His breathing was laboured, you could feel him fighting against the restraint, against you. In your hesitation to open the door, you realised part of you wanted to stay and beg for forgiveness. He was trying to help you, how could you do this? No. No. You had to do this. He kept you locked away. He wouldn't help you find the kids, you had to do this for them. Making yourself turn the handle, your blood ran cold when he spoke quietly, almost calmly, words nothing but a promise.

"I will find you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm doing Nanowrimo this year, and hoping to write a few more chapters for this fic. My aim is 20k, and I've written about 600 words so far, but mostly been editing this chapter. The next one is already half done and will be up soon! Let me know if you're doing Nano too so we can commiserate in our writing woes. Hope you enjoyed this chapter, kudos and comments are super appreciated as always :D


	6. Momentum

You were alone. Completely alone.

You couldn't recall the last time it was like this, over a year at least. What with the kids, the facility and then the mutant. You walked the city streets all by yourself, wearing only socks on your feet.

After getting out of the apartment, there was an elevator just down the hallway. It seemed to take an age to get to your floor. You were about to abandon the wait and take the stairs when the doors juttered open. As it took you down, the adrenaline was making you jittery, unable to focus on anything but escape. Blood dripped onto the floor, and it took a few moments to realise that you would have to deal with the cuts on your arms soon, or you'd leave a trail for him to follow. 

Wasn't it meant to be breadcrumbs? Not drops of blood.

When the elevator opened, you pressed the emergency button to prevent it returning to his floor. You dumped the crutches by the entrance before you hurried out onto the streets. Breaking into a run, you kept going for a few blocks before finding an empty alleyway to patch yourself up in. It was a rush job, you probably tied the bandages too tight, but you didn't care. 

You kept jogging until your thigh was aching in protest and you had to slow down to a walk. At some point you might collapse, you hadn't exerted yourself like this in weeks. The saliva in your mouth was so thick you had to spit it out so you could actually breathe properly. Avoiding the quieter residential streets, you headed towards busier areas with more people, keeping a steady pace to hide your limp as much as possible. Going at this speed would be the best way to preserve whatever energy you had left in case you had to run again.

It had been a good twenty minutes now since you left the apartment building. You weren't sure what kind of lead you had on him, or how long the restraint would last. You guessed maybe five minutes at most. Your chances were getting better the further you moved away from him. Buying some new clothes would make it harder for you to be spotted. 

The adrenaline was starting to wear off, exhaustion was making it hard to keep going but there wasn't any choice. You couldn't dislodge the painful stitch in your side no matter how many deep breaths you took. 

After passing a Chinese restaurant, you spotted a thrift store the other side of the street and quickly went inside. There wasn't enough time to look properly through the clothes so you grabbed a bright-coloured hoodie, a pair of jeans and boots that were all your size and tried them on. All the clothes he'd given to you were all dark or bland, military shades if anything. The brighter colours would mislead him. 

You ended up picking a beanie hat, some gloves and a thick scarf too. The weather was cold enough that all three items were perfectly acceptable to wear, if not necessary. You wouldn't stand out in a crowd, it wouldn't be obvious you were purposely trying to obscure your identity. 

Chatting to the cashier, she was polite enough to let you buy what you had on, so you gave her a tip. It started to rain not long after you left the thrift store. Even though it was freezing, you couldn't help the glee that reveled inside you. With your hood pulled up, you were just another body in the crowd. But you couldn't let your guard down, you weren't quite far away enough yet. 

As you walked past the stores and their Christmas decorations, you realised that it was the latter end of the year. You had known the date from watching the news, but to see how the time had passed was disorientating. The day they took you and the kids was August 15th. The loss of time outside of your control suddenly made you feel nauseous and uneasy, like a never-ending violation. 

A subway station entrance was further up the street, so you walked to it and made your way down the stairs, holding onto the handrail to take some of your weight.

You used one of the machines to buy yourself an unlimited day ticket and went through the turnstile, merging into the crowd of people. There were a lot of commuters about as it was late afternoon.

Over the next few hours, you rode the subway, switching lines regularly, sometimes going up over ground and walking to the next station. You hoped the mutant would have assumed you were making your way out of the city as fast as possible. He'd be focusing on the train stations, the bus terminals, but you wouldn't go there, not yet.

Heading to one station, you stopped off at a hardware store to buy a box cutter. It was easy to cut yourself with, not as messy as a knife and easier to keep clean. You bought a flashlight, some electrical tape, adhesive, PVC pipe and some other items to make yourself less conspicuous than buying a box cutter on its own. 

As you made your way back to the subway, there was a group of teenage boys talking animatedly to each other by the entrance. Taking advantage of them being distracted, you knocked your shoulder into one of them, quickly yanking his phone that was hanging out of his back pocket. Muttering apologies under your breath, you walked back out onto the street using a different exit.

You were lucky he didn't have a passcode on his phone. Looking up info about the city, you brought up maps, timetables for trains, main highways in and out. There was a small bus station on the outskirts of the city, a bus was leaving just past ten in the morning in two days time. With any luck, you'd be able to hole up some place before it left and make your way out of this fucking place.

Then you could look for the kids, reach out to some old contacts who might know where they could have been taken. You walked back into the station, noting that the group of boys had left before handing the phone into the lady at the information desk, citing that you'd found it on the floor.

You took the subway again on the eastern line and rode it to the final stop. Leaving the subway, it was dark when you wandered out into the suburbs. The area looked pretty rough and it was all to your advantage. You bought some food and drink at a rundown grocery store before continuing to wonder the streets, avoiding areas with high activity. It took an hour to find a dilapidated building with its windows and doors boarded up tight. 

The place didn't look as if it had been home to drifters or drug dealers just yet, so you broke in through the back. Using the box cutter to draw some blood, you forcibly pulled off the bottom two boards, careful to keep them intact and not shatter them completely. You blasted through the lock in the door and checked the place was empty with your flashlight before boarding it back up.

The rooms had been emptied out, and the ceiling in the kitchen was mostly collapsed. It smelled of damp and mold. Upstairs was the same. The bathroom had a gaping hole in the floor and you assumed it must have flooded. The place was better than you could have hoped for, even with the smell. You carried a heavy concrete slab over to the back door to keep it shut. One of the bedrooms had a door with a small space behind it that must have been used for clothes. You settled into it, unbothered by the fact you couldn't lay down.

Holding onto the flashlight with your teeth, you pulled everything from the backpack and laid some clothes on the floor by the gap underneath the door to keep some warmth in. You began by taking off the old bandages you'd quickly wrapped around your arms. After disinfecting the cuts, you bandaged your arms properly and filled a quarter of a syringe with the painkiller to inject into your thigh. 

As you waited for the pain to subside, you counted the money you'd stolen from him while eating some snacks. There was more than ten grand. That could easily buy you some cheap wheels, but you were certain that he'd know you'd taken his cash. He was probably scoping out some of the more flexible car dealerships that didn't ask for ID. It was safer than to risk stealing a car.

Turning off the flashlight, the small wardrobe space was pitch black. You stayed awake for another hour or so, straining your ears out to check if anyone noticed you breaking in and had called the cops.

As the minutes ticked by, you felt satisfied you were in the clear, and convinced yourself if the mutant had followed you then he would have made his presence known by now. You finally settled down to sleep, lying on the floor with your knees almost tucked against your chest.

\- - -

It was a relief to stretch your legs when you woke. That small space may have been alright keeping some heat in, but it certainly didn't do your body any good. 

Opening up the door, you slowly wandered around the house to stretch out the muscles in your leg. There was enough sunlight seeping in through the boarded up windows that you could see without using the flashlight. You relieved yourself in what was left of the bathroom, you couldn't leave this place, not until tomorrow. 

The phone you'd temporarily borrowed from that teenage kid would have been useful right about now. At least you would have something to do rather than staring at the walls and getting lost in your thoughts. If you chose a particularly light piece of wall that was almost white, you could feel the echoes of the straitjacket around you. It was unsettling, but oddly reassuring to think about that place you'd escaped. You were free now, more than you had been for weeks. 

But for how long? His words replayed in the back of your mind, that you couldn't hide from him, that he'd find you. Even though you knew what you did was right, a part of you was almost sorry for having to do it. You didn't want to hurt him, you didn't want to hurt anyone. But intentions only took you so far. The rest was just incoming flak. 

What would he do to you if he did find you? Imagining about how angry he would be made you want to curl up and hide. You didn't have the same sort of fear response thinking about Peterson. He had hurt you when you were weak, enjoyed watching you suffer. Then you broke free of that cell, you had locked onto his blood, controlled his body and raised it off of the fucking ground. 

The mutant just wasn't the same. He was blank, uncontrollable, beyond your powers. That's what made you afraid. You almost died trying to fight the mutant, and there wasn't so much as a scratch on him. 

As the day wore on, you ate through more of your food, and kept mostly upstairs, listening to the sounds coming from outside. Voices, traffic, sirens now and again. The constant background noise wasn't quite enough to keep your thoughts from returning to him. He meant well, and that seemed to be the crux of the issue. He probably never intended to hurt you. 

Any moments of anger or violence from him were always because he needed you to comply and to follow his instruction, which would ultimately lead to your recovery. Finding the kids would be risky, but it couldn't be just that. 

If he had seen the future in which you had killed Peterson, and inadvertently caused suffering for a countless number of mutants as a result, of course he wouldn't be willing to let you go. If the positions were reversed, you would probably do the same as he had, though you would explain more and actually talk about the situation. But he wasn't exactly verbose. 

Fuck, you hated justifying him. You just couldn't help yourself, could you? 

You counted the money again to keep yourself occupied as the sunlight faded away. Holing back up in the small space, you managed to go back to sleep. 

It was still dark when you woke, but you'd need the early start to make it across the city to the bus station. When you started to see the beginnings of light from the windows, you packed everything up, slid the box cutter into your front pocket and headed downstairs. You kicked the bottom two boards on the door and crawled underneath, closing it behind you and propping the boards up to cover it.

You were glad to have given yourself another day. It gave your leg some time to rest and you were sure that the mutant would have widened his search to outside the city limits by now. If you hadn't left that first night, or the morning after, it would have been safe to presume you'd left, or that you weren't planning on leaving anytime soon.

It was Saturday and people seemed to be out early for Christmas shopping. You changed lines frequently on the subway, avoiding the centre of the city and keeping to the outskirts. It must have taken more than two hours to get to the bus terminal.

The skies had mostly cleared from two days ago. Though it was chilly, there was some warmth in the air whenever the sun came out. The hat and gloves kept you warm, you didn't need the scarf for now. You kept your face away from the cameras as you bought a ticket, and wiped your nose with the sleeve of the hoodie to cover yourself when you couldn't quite avoid it without looking too suspicious. 

Taking a seat on one of the benches, your leg bounced up and down as you waited for the bus to arrive. It would be another half hour wait, and that was if it was on time, you would probably have to wait longer.

The anxiety in your gut was making it hard to focus. You'd be gone soon. When you were clear of the city you could breathe a little easier, and not feel this growing knot of nerves and apprehension. However tempting it would be to buy a car, just get on the road and put the miles beyond you, you'd need that money to head south. If you could find one of your mutant contacts, you'd need the money to pay them for information, the ten grand might not even be enough. 

After leaving the city, maybe then you could steal a car, you'd probably have to rob some place too so you'd have enough cash. When you found the kids, you'd have to steal even more money, enough so you could buy them new identities and passports to leave the country. There were a few nations out there that were more tolerant of mutants. It wouldn't be perfect but it would be better, and you'd be with them. 

That's all that mattered. 

With Reese's growing power, you could hit bigger banks and leave unnoticed. It would be enough to live on for a few years, enough to settle down some place. You and Reese had made a good team in the past, and it wasn't only her powers that were getting stronger. With your blood now, after they had drained you every day at the facility, you'd never been this powerful. You could make a lot of people pass out at the same time, it would be better for crowd control. You might not even need her help, you could do it all yourself. Your shields would hold against any incoming fire if things didn't go to plan. 

After meeting the kids, you burned through your savings much faster than you'd anticipated. It was only small places you'd robbed to get some money, gas stations, grocery and liquor stores. When you were a few years older than Reese, you had held up a bank in a small town, managed to escape just before the cops arrived. You ran, and ended up passing out in a fucking parking lot after using too much blood. When you woke up, the money was gone. Whoever had stolen it had taken your goddamn shoes too. 

You didn't go for the bigger places with the kids. Sometimes it would be too dangerous to attempt anything at all, so you worked the streets instead. You'd never thought you'd have to go back to hustling, but it wasn't as risky and you needed the money. Reese had asked you about it one night, when you came back to the motel room you'd all been staying at for a couple days. Elsie and Bowen were fast asleep tucked under the covers. You told her sex wasn't all it was cracked up to be, sometimes it was just physical, a way to get off and people paid for that. 

It was hard to work out whether there was pity or disappointment in her eyes. 

Gazing over the terminal to distract yourself from the memory, you watched the people waiting for their buses. It was pretty busy what with it being the weekend. There were a few families too, parents, kids. You looked away to the other side of the street, pausing when you saw someone standing motionless on the sidewalk. 

That was unusual, it wasn't really a place to stop. A frisson of fear rippled through your body when you recognised who was standing there. It was him. He stood scanning over the station until he looked over to your direction and stopped. Even from this distance you could see his fists clenching. Oh god, he saw you. Fear kept you frozen to the bench, your heart ached, blood rushed to your ears, you held your breath. His body seemed to tense, as if he was preparing for a fight. Fuck, this wasn't meant to happen, how did he find you? You'd been so fucking careful.

A stalemate hung between you for a few moments, neither of you moving. The world seemed to disappear until it was just you and him. He took a step forward, and that was all it took for your body to react. And then you ran.

You sprinted out of the terminal, barely able to concentrate on where you were going through the sheer panic. The backpack was bouncing up and down on your back so you wrenched the straps down at the front to keep it steady. You weren't going fast enough. 

Forcing yourself to go at full pelt, you dodged past people walking on the pavement. If you bumped into any of them, it would all be over. You ran out across the street, weaving through traffic, almost getting hit by a truck in the process. He had been a good hundred yards away when you first saw him, how quickly was he closing in? How much of a lead did you have? You didn't know, and you could not look back. 

You spotted the entrance to a mall not far ahead and headed straight for it. You could lose him in there, if you had just enough time, you might have a chance. You could feel your thigh throbbing through the adrenaline and the fear, you weren't sure how long you could keep this up. Pulling out the box cutter, you pressed it against your neck until blood seeped out of the wound. There wasn't time to think about the consequences of using your powers out on the streets, filled with humans. 

Holding your free hand by your neck, you concentrated the blood into a pair of wings, bigger than you'd ever made before. You turned back for a brief moment to spot him, your pace almost faltering when you saw how close he was. Throwing out your arm behind you, the wings launched towards him at surprising speed. They easily outmaneuvered his shield to slip into his mouth and down his throat. 

You focused ahead and kept running, holding the blood in position so he wouldn't be able to breathe. But he didn't slow down. When you reached the mall entrance, you could still feel him behind, gaining on you if anything. You skirted around the idle shoppers, and raced up the stairs, almost losing your balance when your thigh twinged in pain. Making it to the next floor, you were thankful that most people were using the escalators. 

It must have been about a minute since you launched the blood when you finally felt him lose pace and fall behind. You didn't take a chance by looking back and ran into a department store. When you saw all the clothes rails near the back, you half-crouched, half-jogged until you found a large mirror to hide behind. You practically collapsed onto the floor, unable to ignore the pain in your thigh anymore. How the fuck were you going to get up? Where was he? You couldn't feel the blood anymore.

Fuck it was hard to breathe, hard to think about anything but run, fucking run. 

You rummaged through your backpack for the med kit, yanking out the painkiller and a syringe. Your hands were shaking as you tried to fill it. Pulling down your pants, you injected a full syringe of painkiller into your thigh. Shit, you hoped it worked fast. 

As you did the pants back up, you peeked around the mirror to see if security or anybody else had taken notice of you. The aisle was clear and you were about to turn back when you saw him come into view. No, god no. He whipped his head round, eye glowing bright when he spotted you. There was blood on his lips, over his chin, anger was splayed across his expression. Adrenaline and fear surged inside of you. 

Scrambling back onto your feet, you broke into a run, no longer able to feel your legs anymore. You made your way round the department store before heading back out, beginning to feel the effects of the painkiller. It was slowing down your heart, it wasn't pumping enough blood to your muscles. Holding a hand against your chest, you forced the blood around your body and kept running. 

Your breathing was heavy, lungs burning, you were lightheaded. Veering to the right, you ran past the toilets to an employees only door. Shoving your shoulder against it, you nearly fell over when it flung open. As you went down the corridor, you suddenly collapsed onto the floor, your legs giving out underneath you. The momentum of running made your body slide forward before finally coming to a halt. 

Fuck you couldn't breathe, you couldn't fucking-

You were hyperventilating. In your attempt to compensate for your slowing heart rate and to pump the blood around your body, there wasn't enough oxygen in your blood. You were dizzy, nauseous and desperately tried to take in air, but your body was seizing with panic. A pair of arms pulled you up off the floor until you were on your knees. An arm wrapped around your hips to keep you steady, and you vaguely registered a sharp prick on your neck.

He hushed you, mouth pressed against your ear. His other hand pressed the back of your neck forwards so you were hunched over. 

“Shh, just breathe, breathe. I'm not going to hurt you. You need to breathe, alright? Shh. Take a deep breath.” Your body tried to automatically jerk away from him, but he held you steady and continued to tell you to breathe until you actually listened to him. 

After concentrating on his words, you managed to take in deeper and longer breathes. It took you a while to realise that he'd positioned you hunched over like this to ease the pressure on your lungs. You listened to him breathing, focused on it so you could mimic each slow inhale and exhale. Your body was exhausted and instinctively relaxed against him as you began to breathe more normally. 

What was. . .what the fuck was happening. . .you were running from him, you had to get away. 

Reaching down to your pocket to take out the box cutter, his metal hand pulled it out before you could. It disappeared from view, and you heard a clattering noise. He must have thrown it onto the floor. You moved your body forwards until you were out of his grip, he didn't stop you from pulling away. You turned around to face him and shifted backwards to put some space between you, your thigh only vaguely throbbing in pain now. 

When your back hit the wall, you stared at him mindlessly, unable to accept what was happening. Was this. . .was this it? Was it all over now? All you knew was that you could not go back to that apartment, you wouldn't. 

He motioned towards you and you shook your head at him. 

“I can't. . .I can't do this anymore. I can't be your prisoner again. I won't,” you told him, voice cracking from your parched throat. He didn't come any closer. “I'll stop you, and I'll run. I will keep trying to find them. I'll never stop, you might as well-” You couldn't finish the sentence. He leaned up against the wall opposite, watching you carefully. You swore there was resignation in his eyes. 

“We have to go,” he told you, glancing down the corridor. You kept shaking your head. 

“Don't you get it? I'm not going to kill Peterson, that fucking human doesn't matter. My kids matter. I won't ever stop trying to find them, no matter what you do to me.” His eyes dropped to the floor. His lip twitched, jaw clenched as if he was trying to contain himself. 

“They're the only family I have.” He looked at you then, eyes boring into you as if they were trying to sear into your soul. 

“Please,” you begged, knowing if he denied you then it would be weeks before you could try to escape again, if he even gave you the chance. He didn't respond. Your body slumped against the wall and you tried to appreciate the freedom of movement you had over your limbs. No doubt he'd take you back to that chair, gag you, tape your fingers together, immobilise you entirely so you couldn't use your powers. Fuck why weren't you stronger? Why weren't you ever-

“Okay,” he muttered. You stared, trying to understand the word that came out of his mouth. What was he. . .what did he- 

“We'll try to find them,” he told you, nodding his head. You knew he was telling the truth, it seeped down into your bones, but you couldn't quite understand it.

“Why? Why would you suddenly change your mind? After all this?”

“Family's important,” he told you, raising his chin and wiping a hand over the blood on his throat. He looked down the corridor again, your little foray through the mall must have attracted some attention. You didn't have much time. 

“And you'll help me?” 

“I will,” he promised, getting up onto his feet. His metal arm whirred as he held out his hand for you. For a few moments you hesitated before taking his hand, trying to let his words sink in. 

“I don't. . .I don't even know your name.” 

“The name's Cable.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm at 10k for nano, and oh boy I am writing some fucked up shit hehe. It's so good, I can't wait to share it with you. I'm not writing chronologically, so the next chapter is not done just yet. But it's already at 6k, and I haven't written like a third of it maybe? We're getting in deep, and it's gonna get fucking worse. Hope you enjoyed :D


	7. Mystified

As he pulled you off the floor onto your feet, your bad leg slipped, but he managed to keep you from falling over. He held onto your shoulder as you swayed. You were so exhausted. The painkiller was really kicking in. Though you tried to put weight on your leg, you could barely feel anything but faint tingles down the muscles. 

“Come on,” he told you, wrapping your arm around the back of his neck and holding onto your wrist with his metal hand. “We have to move.” 

His other arm slid around your waist underneath the backpack to keep you steady. He half-carried you down the corridor, taking your weight as he had before. Passing a few doors, you tried to make out a sign at the end, but your vision was starting to blur. 

“Cops?” you asked, hoping you hadn't drawn more attention by using your powers out in public. What a fucking stupid idea that was. 

“Not just cops,” he told you gruffly, shifting you backwards so he could push open a door with his shoulder. You swore under your breath, trying to make yourself go faster. He helped you down the stairs as you managed to hop down each of them. After making it to the bottom, he kicked open the exit to the employee lot and delivery depot. He veered left, rushing past the semi trucks in front of the loading dock. It was hard to keep moving and you were starting to lost your grip on him.

Three cops by an entrance door spotted you and drew their weapons, ordering you both to freeze and put your hands up. Cable's body tensed as he stopped, the arm around your waist slowly started to slide away, he was going to make a move for his weapon. The cops were approaching fast, continually ordering you both to comply. 

“Make me bleed,” you mumbled under your breath. The hand around your waist didn't stop moving. 

“No, you're too weak.” 

“Just do it.” For a moment you thought he wouldn't listen to you until his metal fingers dug into the wound on your neck. Even with the painkiller, you cried out in pain from the sensation of him splitting the skin apart. You quickly locked onto the cops and dropped all three of them onto the ground. Sirens started to wail and a couple cop cars were gunning it towards the loading dock. Wait, was that a fucking SWAT van too? 

Drained from using your powers again, you weren't sure if you could take them on too. With him half-carrying you already, you were dead-weight. You couldn't move fast enough. Before the vehicles reached you, he moved in front of you, slipped his metal arm behind the back of your knees and lifted you up effortlessly over his shoulder. He broke into a sprint, and you could barely keep your eyes open. You vaguely heard the sound of gunshots before you gave up trying to stay awake and let yourself pass out.

\- - -

You felt weird when you came to. You weren't sure if you were in pain or not, you couldn't make sense of what your body was telling you. You were laid out in the back of a truck. The space was poorly lit, could have been some sort of garage from the dust in the air. It definitely wasn't police custody.

The longer you were awake, you gradually started to feel echoes of pain. The painkiller must have been wearing off. Your back had been propped against something relatively soft, a blanket was laid over your legs. On either side of you were the supplies and weapons that you recognised from the apartment. It felt oddly reassuring to be surrounded by it all. 

The mutant came into view, carrying the med kit in his hands. Cable, that's what he said his name was. He climbed up into the truck, perching on top of a couple ammunition boxes. 

“How are you feeling?” he asked, rifling through the kit before pulling out some antibacterial wipes.

“Not sure,” you replied as he reached forward and wiped at your neck. You hissed at the sharp sting, but lifted your chin up to give him easier access. 

“Drugs are still working through your system. It'll take a couple more hours at least.” You couldn't see the wound on your neck and wondered whether he'd been able to stitch it up considering the way his fingers had split apart the skin. The scar would probably look nasty. As he was picking up something in the med kit, your hand wandered up to your neck to feel the damage. He grabbed your hand before you could. 

“Leave it,” he ordered. His grip was firm, but it wasn't the same crushing grip he'd used before. You supposed that was progress. And yet his eyes hadn't lost an ounce of their intensity, it was hard not to look away. 

After letting you go, he tore off some pieces of medical tape before attaching it to a bandage. His metal fingers pressed along your jaw to tilt your chin upwards as he stuck it over the wound. 

This felt. . .strange. It was like everything had changed between you, and yet nothing had. 

“Where are we?” you asked after he'd finished. The mutant was arranging some of the bags, and pulled out a phone from one of them. It had a large antenna coming out of the top, was it a satellite phone? 

“Storage unit. We needed somewhere to lie low.” He climbed off the truck and made a call. You were silent as he paced back and forth, waiting for someone to pick up. His eyes rolled a moment later, a hand wiping across his brow. 

“Where's Neena?. . .Who? I don't snap anybody, Wilson. Put Neena on,” Cable let out an irritated sigh and held the phone away from his ear for a few moments. You raised your eyebrows at him and he simply shook his head as if he didn't have the patience to even confirm the existence of the person on the other end of the call. 

“I am not your fucking. . .hey Neena. Need to ask for a few favours. You got a map handy? I need an exit strategy. . .yeah, yeah that was me. . .listen, I need your help with something else too, finding some kids. Mutant kids. Thought you'd be the best person to ask. . .yeah. . .alright. . .not the 85. Appreciate it, Neena.” He ended the call and threw the satellite phone onto a duffel bag by your feet. 

“We'll wait here for about three hours before leaving the city. Cops have the roads blocked off, we'll have a short window later.” You nodded, keeping your hands from wandering up to the bandage on your neck. He climbed onto the truck, putting the phone away before rummaging through another bag. 

“Who's Neena? And Wilson?” You asked, unable to help your curiosity. He paused before pulling out a canteen.

“Mutants. They'll help us. Help find your kids.” His eyes never strayed from yours, he was being honest. He really was going to help you. It was different from the first time he'd told you, almost two weeks ago. You had felt hopeful, assured back then. Now you knew better. You wouldn't hold your breath. He took a drink from the canteen before you spoke. 

“You told me that before. And yet. . .” You trailed off, watching as he turned away slightly for a brief moment, jaw clenching like he was uncomfortable rather than angry. “Why should I believe you now?” 

“Because you know it's the truth.” 

“Do I?”

“Yeah, you do.” His eyes were steady as he looked at you. There wasn't a hint of dishonesty about him, about his words. You dropped your head slightly, avoiding his gaze and inspecting your hands. He hadn't cut your fingernails. You weren't restrained, there wasn't a gag in your mouth. Maybe this time would be different. 

Even if it wasn't, your goal remained unchanged. If there was a chance that he'd help you, him and his mutant friends, you'd have to take it. 

Cable held out the canteen, and you hesitated for a few moments before taking it silently. He dug through one of the bags as you took a few sips. The water was cold and had a slight metallic taste. 

“Want one?” He held out an energy bar and even though you didn't have much appetite, you accepted it with a nod this time. Holding the canteen and energy bar in your hands, you watched as he moved an ammunition box in front of him. He covered it with some cloth to make an improvised work surface. He began to disassemble one of the sidearms, laying out the pieces and the magazine. 

There was something comforting about the gentle whirring of his metal arm, the way his focus was deviated from you. Taking a bite of the energy bar, you grimaced as it was chewy and syrupy, hard to swallow. You drank more of the water to wash it down. 

“I'd prefer some of your eggs,” you commented, thinking back to all those meals he cooked. You hadn't eaten that well in months. With the kids, home-cooked meals were a rarity. There was never enough time. He never cracked a smile, merely nodded in response and continued his work. You pocketed the energy bar to save for later and watched him for a little while longer before pulling the blanket up and closing your eyes to get some rest. 

A loud noise startled you awake. 

Disorientated for a moment, you found yourself in the passenger side of the truck. The blanket was tucked around your body, the seat belt secured over it. The window next to you had a large crack across it, that was. . .you, when you'd slammed your head against it in an attempt to-

“Didn't mean to wake you,” Cable mumbled before driving the truck out of the storage unit about twenty yards before stopping. He kept the engine running as he climbed out and closed the roller shutters. You stared at him as he got back in and drove past the other units. You must have fallen asleep, he must have moved you. Why weren't you bothered by that? 

You pulled the blanket off and folded it up, wondering where you could put it. It would get dirty on the floor and his gear in the back of the truck had been covered with a tarp. 

“Put it behind your seat,” he told you as he turned down a street, his eye glowing bright. He was fixated on the road ahead, checked his mirrors far more often than you ever did. You wondered how you were going to make it out of the city if the cops had the roads blocked off. As you tucked the blanket behind your seat, you noticed the large rifle was behind his. Nerves began to seep into the base of your gut. He would probably find a route which the cops hadn't covered. It had been at least three hours since he had. . . 

What the fuck had he done to get you both out of there? You thought back to the cop cars coming towards you, the way he had you over his shoulder as he ran. There were gunshots, you were sure of it. What happened while you were out? Did he kill those cops? Is that what he was planning on doing now if the route was compromised? 

It felt like only a few minutes had passed when the truck came to a halt. The traffic ahead wasn't moving. There were red and blue flashing lights, it was a road block. 

Cable didn't seem bothered by it at all. Did he know something you didn't? He drove the truck forward a little when the cops let a car go. There were four more cars in front. Two police cars formed the blockade, the cops that you could see were armed with shotguns and assault rifles. They really weren't fucking around. 

Another car was let through the blockade, you couldn't help the nerves building inside you. 

You didn't think you'd be strong enough to make them all pass out. Shit, he must be expecting you to take these cops down, like the three from earlier. 

“Have you got a knife?” You asked, pulling up your sleeve. 

“Not gonna need it,” he replied calmly, moving the truck forward another space. What the fuck was he going to do? He had one hand on the wheel, the other resting on the gear shift. He made no move for the weapon behind his seat, or the handgun holstered at his side. You leant back in the seat, desperately trying to think up possible scenarios about how this would go down. 

It didn't make sense. You didn't voice your concern, if he needed to be ready, he would be. Were you really going to trust this bastard right now? As the truck moved forward again and Cable remained utterly complacent, you couldn't help but be annoyed by the fact that yes, you were going to trust him. Only one car to go now.

Tires screeched against tarmac and you heard an engine whining from behind. Looking back, a delivery truck accelerated before crashing into the vehicle in front, destroying the roadblock ahead. It managed to keep going down the street as the cops immediately got into their cars to pursue.

Cable waited a few moments before moving the truck past the car in front. The driver was already out of his car, screaming down the phone at someone. 

How the fuck did he know that was going to happen? He'd said he couldn't see everything, only broad strokes of the future, so what the fuck was that? Why didn't he find you sooner? How did you escape that apartment in the first place? 

“Why didn't you know I was going to escape?” 

“What?”

“Why didn't you stop me?”

“Pretty sure I tried.” 

“But didn't you foresee me leaving?”

“No, I can't see the-” he paused, inhaling as if he was about to sigh. “That roadblock was all Neena. She told me this would be our window. She's lucky, it's her power.” Her power was luck? How did that work? You were dumbfounded by the notion. How amazing would her life be? Had she won the lottery? Was she tremendously rich and surrounded by the best people in the world because she was just lucky? 

Was she lucky to know Cable? It would have to be the other way round. . .surely? 

But then. You thought about the way he'd taken care of you, his abilities when they weren't used against you. There was no doubt he was powerful, skilled, ferocious in his adamancy. 

It just depended on whether he was your enemy or not. 

You thought over what he'd said for a long time. Neena sounded too good to be true, but from what you'd heard she seemed willing to help. Part of you hated relying on other people's help. Those kids were your responsibility, you should have been strong enough to find them on your own, you should have been fucking strong enough to not let them get captured in the first place. 

As you left the city behind, it began to rain. He seemed to keep the truck at or below the speed limit, it didn't feel as if it was going particularly fast. There were plenty of other cars overtaking you. He was thorough once again, wouldn't give the cops an excuse to pull the truck over. 

In the past you had tended to push your luck and drive fast along the highways, letting the world slip away. You were more careful with the kids, but before you met them you were unanchored by anything or anyone. Everything moved so quickly around you that you could almost escape from it, feeling nothing but that rush as you pressed your foot down on the accelerator, heart pumping hard when you barely missed avoiding another car. That had felt like living.

Things were different now. Three mutant kids had crossed your path, and they'd needed your help. They did now. The mutant beside you was your best bet. As the miles passed by, you stared out the window, wondering why Cable had changed his mind.

“Why did you decide to help me?” You asked, watching the rain was getting worse. It would probably snow tonight when the temperature dropped a few more degrees. 

“Those kids are the only family you have, right?” You nodded, absentmindedly forgetting that he was concentrating on the road. 

“Yeah.” 

“Family's important.” 

“Yeah, you said that before.” He checked the side mirrors frequently, even though he'd said you weren't being followed after leaving the city. Maybe he was just an extra careful driver, more responsible than you were in a car. There was a shift between you, like the tension hadn't quite dissipated but had merely changed direction. If you could harness his skills, the people he knew, his thoroughness. . .you'd be able to find the kids, and that's all that mattered now. 

“What happened to yours? What happened to your kid?” You asked, not expecting much of an answer. He turned to you for a brief moment, mouth parted slightly before focusing on driving again. He was probably surprised you'd guessed that. 

“Normally people don't keep teddy bears unless something happened to their kid,” you explained. He nodded, jaw tensing before he replied. 

“My family's gone.” He said nothing after that. You didn't feel pity for him, that wasn't right, but you did feel sorry for his loss. Whenever anyone apologised after hearing someone had died, it never quite rang true for you. Those words would never be enough, they would do absolutely nothing to alleviate someone's grief. That could only come with time, with offering your company and your understanding. But people didn't want to give that, it was too much effort. 

A quick apology would rid them of all that, their hands would be clean. And grief was anything but clean. 

He drove well into the night, and you leaned up against the window trying to keep yourself awake. The heater was on, it was warm in the cab of the truck, you didn't need the blanket tucked behind the seat. The highway ahead was dark, and endless. You were making progress, you were getting closer to them. Things hadn't been this good since you'd last saw them. 

You felt grateful to him. He would not receive your gratitude now. Maybe some day. He had leaned further into his seat, one hand on the wheel whereas before he had two. He'd been driving for hours, surely he must be tired. 

“Want me to drive?” You mumbled, straightening up your back and leaning against the head rest. 

“No,” he replied, his tone firm but not harsh. His expression seemed to soften before he spoke again. “You should sleep. You can drive in the morning.” 

“Okay.” 

\- - -

It was light out when you finally woke. Your neck ached from the awkward way you'd slept with your head leaning on the cracked window. Using the blanket as a pillow hadn't been quite enough support. Wiping your eyes, a memory surfaced of the last time you'd woken up in the truck, with your hands tied onto the grab handle, leg propped up against the dash. 

You remembered the intense panic you felt, and the resolve that settled over your body as you focused on the blood. You were trying to destroy yourself, drown in your own blood or rip yourself apart. You just wanted everything to stop but he had. . .

Looking over to him, you tried not to think about that. There were bags under his eyes, he seemed much worse now in the light. How many hours had he been driving now? Coming up to seventeen maybe? You didn't know. 

You couldn't see the gas meter from this angle, and wondered whether he'd made a stop to fill up when you were asleep. 

“We should pull over at the next rest stop,” you told him. He looked over to you with his eyebrow raised. You supposed he wasn't used to taking orders, especially not from you. “So I can drive, maybe get some food. . .” You trailed off, rubbing your arm across your stomach to prevent it from rumbling, not that it did anything to help. 

“Another few hours,” he mumbled, eyes watching the highway intently.

“We should pull over,” you repeated, determined that he would listen to you. It was like you were battling for a higher ground than you'd been on before. You'd always taken his orders, did what he asked, and now it was time for him to return the favour. He said nothing, and simply kept driving. 

“I've taken you down before, Cable,” you reminded him. “I'll do it again.” He let out a gruff laugh and a small smile pulled up his lips. He turned to you, humming in agreement. 

“Don't doubt it,” he replied, voice deeper and gruffer than usual. Did he just agree with you? Why did it feel like a compliment? When was the last time he'd slept? You didn't say anything for the next few miles, and he simply kept driving. You had thought. . .maybe you could work together to find the kids, maybe he could actually respect you and listen to what you had to say, not just override your every word. You'd obviously expected too much in this situation. You might not be tied up anymore, but you certainly weren't in control. 

He pulled off the highway, following the exit signs to the rest stop. Instead of pulling up to the gas station, or to the main building with the coffee shops and fast food places, he stopped the truck at the furthest point away from them both. 

You got out and stretched your legs, rolling your neck side to side. It felt nice to breath in some fresh air after spending all night in the truck. 

“Do we need gas?” You asked after he got out of the truck and started to untie the plastic tarp that was covering all his supplies in the back. He picked up a jerrycan to fill the truck up with gas. You supposed that answered your question. 

You sighed and gazed over the rest stop area, wondering whether you could get some breakfast. After finding your backpack, and taking out some cash, you told him you were going to buy some food. 

You'd eaten most of the snacks you'd bought already.

“No need,” he replied, putting the jerrycan back onto the truck and unzipping a duffel bag. You approached him hesitantly as he held the bag open for you to see its contents. It was filled with ready to eat packaged meals, rations and more energy bars. A part of you was disappointed, you'd wanted something hot. He let go of the bag after you began to search through it for something to eat. 

You chose something to eat for breakfast, some lunch and a few snacks as well. You grabbed some water too and filled your backpack with it all. He tied the tarp back down after you'd finished and got into the passenger side of the truck. 

Getting behind the wheel, you turned the engine back on and drove back onto the highway. As you ate some breakfast, he told you to keep heading west, follow the signs out of state.

You settled into the warm seat, turning on the radio for some music. The volume was kept down low so he could sleep, if he even went to sleep. It was like he was always on guard, always tense. You knew it made sense to a certain point with the humans who were after you, the facility, the cops. But you weren't being followed, you were on the road and yet still he seemed like he could never actually relax. He just wasn't the type. You'd hope he could at least rest, he looked like shit. Looking over to him, you were shocked to see that his eyes were actually closed. He'd leant back slightly into the head rest, hadn't curled over like the kids always did. 

It looked as if he could open his eyes any second and be fully awake and aware of what was going on. At least he could get a few hours sleep, you wondered when was the last time he slept. Did he sleep when he was trying to find you? Or was he awake for two days straight, hunting you down around the city, and finally managing to catch up with you before you could leave?

He was like a fucking machine. You couldn't help but look over to his arm and wondered how much of that was really true. No, no he wasn't a machine, he was just. . .Cable. You wondered how he got that name. Reference to his arm maybe? You probably wouldn't ever find out. 

He'd never told you anything personal about himself, aside from the fact that his family was gone, and that didn't come unprompted. He said before, probably a few weeks ago now, that he could see the broad strokes of the future. Killing Peterson had created a massive backlash against mutants, the humans would have waved your barbarity as a call to arms to stop mutants, to keep them under control, documented, restrict their movements, their abilities, their choices. It fit all too perfectly, you had absolutely no doubt that was the truth, that was the future he'd avoided. 

You wondered, did he still believe that you would kill him? Even after all he had said? Is that why he was adamant to keep you prisoner, keep you from looking for the kids? You supposed that, if you truly were a threat, if you had created such a future. . .it made sense. Fuck, why did it make sense? 

It felt like you constantly justified his actions, you couldn't help but see the best in him, you couldn't help but trust him and most of the time you didn't know why. It was just a feeling in your gut that you couldn't ignore. Instincts were something you trusted, it had gotten you out of bad situations in the past, steered you away from people who wanted to use you to their advantage. 

You drove through the morning, and Cable didn't move at all. He was out of it. He had driven yesterday afternoon all the way through the night. You rustled through your backpack, and grabbed one of the packets of food. Ripping the end of with your teeth, you bit into the snack bread, washing it down afterwards with some water. 

The radio announced it was two in the afternoon, and played an hour of commercial free music. Before you knew it, the hour was up and you were starting to get really desperate to use the bathroom. Pissing on the side of the road just wouldn't cut it, you needed to rest. You waited for another hour until you couldn't wait any longer. It would get dark soon, and you hadn't had a break. 

You hadn't driven for this long in a while, you needed to stop before you pissed all over the seat. You wondered whether you should wake Cable up, but you decided against it. Pulling up at the next rest stop, you parked a ways away from everyone else, as he had before. You stared at him after turning the engine off. He was dead to the world. 

It would be easy to grab one of the handguns from the back of the truck and put a bullet in his brain. There was something comforting about that, the fact that you could do it, after everything he did. But you needed his help. He had spoken to a mutant called Neena, asked for her help. You wondered who she was. Was she trying to help mutants like Cable? Was she like him? 

There was someone else too, Cable called them Wilson and he had seemed. . .annoyed by them, yet there was an acceptance and familiarity, like an irritating sibling maybe. It was odd to think of him having that sort of relationship with someone, with anyone in fact. 

Leaving the keys in the ignition, you grabbed the beanie hat out of the backpack before heading off. It was supposed to feel normal this, stopping off somewhere to use the bathroom, taking a break from a long drive. With the kids, there'd always been that element of danger, of urgency to keep going, to not get caught, to keep a low profile, watch your surroundings at all times. 

You still hadn't lost that, even now. Before you'd met the kids, you'd created a normal life for yourself, with a shitty job, irritating roommates. You paid taxes, you watched mindless TV and ate junk food. You were normal, well, as much as a mutant could be these days. Could you ever get back to that? Could you give the kids a normal life? It was difficult to hide the limp, so you took your time walking over, ignoring the twinging in your thigh. 

You kept the hat down low, and yawned with a hand over your mouth to obscure your face from the entrance cameras. It was tempting to buy some food, but Cable had been pretty adamant against it. He probably didn't want to risk being seen by any cameras, or be recognised by anyone in case either of your faces were plastered across the news. 

They probably were, such was your luck. Confidence was key when going into public areas, into grocery stores or launderettes. Most people kept to themselves, to their own lives. There were always pictures of people's faces on the news, of a new enemy to fear. It was difficult to keep up with it all. If they did spot you, it was easy to tell from the shift in their body language, the way they were trying to keep themselves together while they tried to alert the authorities as quickly as possible. 

After finishing up, you washed your hands and splashed water across your face to wake yourself up a bit. You heard a door slam and looked over to see Cable standing by the entrance. His eyes were filled with anger, jaw clenched hard. A scarf covered the metal trawling up his neck, gloves concealed his hands. 

“What the fuck are you doing?” He spat at you after shutting the door behind him, metal arm holding it closed so no one else could get in. You gestured to the bathroom around you, as if it wasn't obvious enough. 

“You risked our location, we have to leave right now.” 

“I didn't risk anything. I know what I'm doing, I was on the run before I met-” 

“You got caught.” Your mouth was parted, but there wasn't anything to retort back.

“I hid from the cameras, okay?” You swallowed, hating how small he made you feel. Looking away from him, you grabbed a paper towel to dry your hands and face. As you limped over to him, he didn't move, kept his arm on the door. 

“Your leg,” he mumbled, flesh hand reaching towards you as if he was going to take a look at it. 

“Don't fucking touch me,” you told him, grabbing the door handle. He moved his arm off the door and you walked out of the bathroom, hiding your limp as best as possible. You covered up your face just as you left the building with Cable trailing behind. 

He overtook you just before you reached the truck and got into the driver's side. You paused, eyes fixating on the tarp and the weapons hidden underneath. Regret started to bubble inside of you, maybe you should have taken one of his guns while you had the chance. 

\- - -

He drove for the next few hours without a single word. Your thigh was hurting real bad, and you were angry at yourself for not thinking about getting the med kit before. It wasn't like you were going to ask him to stop so you could get it. 

You couldn't stand listening to the radio anymore after listening to it all day so you turned it off and propped your feet up against the dash to try and relax, take the pressure off your thigh. In the dark of the cab, you could still see his head turning towards you slightly and you wondered whether he might chide you for it. Thankfully he didn't say anything, and continued to drive, eventually heading off the highway down smaller back country roads. 

He kept driving for a good half hour, until he turned off down an unpaved road through a forest. You straightened up in your seat, wondering what was up ahead. It wasn't long until you saw an old cabin that looked worse for wear. 

“This your place?” You asked as he stopped the truck out front and turned the engine off. 

“No,” he muttered, getting out and starting to untie the tarp on the truck bed. You slowly got out, one hand on the door, the other on the seat to shift your body onto the ground as carefully as possible. Fuck it was cold. As you put weight on your bad leg, the muscles in your thigh started to cramp and you squeezed your eyes closed, teeth biting down on your lip. 

“You alright?” He asked, concern undercutting his tone. You forced yourself to stand on both legs, and grab your backpack from the truck. 

“Just a cramp. Suppose being in a truck all day and night can do that.” He didn't reply, simply grabbed a few duffel bags, and his rifle, the one he'd attacked you with first time you met. It was slung across his back. You grabbed the med kit and put it in your backpack before following him to the cabin. The front door was boarded up, there didn't seem to be a handle. He quickly pulled off the boards one by one with his metal arm, the wood snapping loudly as it broke. He broke the handle clean off and the door creaked open. It was pitch black inside, so you pulled out your flashlight to look around the place. 

Cable was dumping his bags in the living room and placed his rifle on the coffee table in the middle of the room. He headed back out through the front door, presumably for more supplies. You immediately grabbed onto the wall, taking the weight off of your bad leg. You'd spent enough time looking weak in front of him. You couldn't lose a fucking inch of ground. 

You made your way over to the sofa, and collapsed down onto it, ignoring its musty smell. Reaching out to the coffee table, you were about to place the flashlight on it, face it upwards so it could shine across the ceiling to light up the room. You hesitated for a moment, staring at the rifle and wondering how you survived that. You hadn't seen anything like it. The wooden stock at the end didn't seem to fit the rest of the weapon. Did he put it together? 

Placing the flashlight down, you leant back into the sofa, a shiver radiating down your spine. It was actually quite comfortable, if a bit smelly. He brought in a couple more bags before shutting the front door and heading over to you. 

“Place doesn't have power, we'll have to use these.” He sat down next to you on the sofa, dumping the bags on the floor around him. He opened one of them up, retrieving a few candles before placing them on the table. After he lit them all with a lighter, you clicked off the flashlight. Though the room was slightly darker, the candles had a soft glow and it was surprising how much light they gave off. 

“Anywhere we can start a fire?” You managed to ask without your teeth chattering. He reached into another of his bags, and pulled out a few blankets. A sigh escaped your mouth, you wondered whether you'd be able to get any sleep with it being so cold. 

When he passed you a blanket, you couldn't help but mutter a thanks. After draping it over yourself, you hesitated for a moment before throwing half of the blanket over him. You wouldn't be as cold with his body heat. He stayed still and silent for about a minute before he got off the sofa, pulled out a couple packs of beer from a duffel bag before putting them on the table. 

"Keep you warm," he mumbled, holding out a can. You hesitated for a brief moment before taking it from him and you took a long chug, wincing slightly at the taste. No wonder why he never seemed to like it. In your peripheral vision, you could see he was staring. He turned away when you looked over to him as he opened up his own beer and took a sip. Cable sat down on the sofa, pulling your blanket over his legs. His eye seemed to glow more in the low light. 

Both of you sat in silence, gradually making your way through a couple packs of beers. Sometimes you'd look over to him, watching as he closed his eyes while he drank. His hair wasn't slicked back as it usually was, a few strands fell loose over his forehead. It made him seem less intimidating. 

It took awhile to feel that comforting warm buzz of alcohol in your blood. The sensation was almost as good as that painkiller. A long time ago you'd attempted to circulate only some of your blood through your liver, just to feel that hazy bliss for a little bit longer. Letting out another sigh, you thought about injecting some of the painkiller to really get that buzz going-

“I thought you'd gone,” he told you, his words startling you after the long silence. You turned to face him, eyebrows furrowed. Was he talking about when you went to the bathroom? “Earlier.” 

He seemed more relaxed than you'd ever seen him, expression softer too. Perhaps it was just the light. 

“Should have,” you replied, not really meaning it. You needed his help. Time was a luxury you didn't have, and as each day passed, your window for finding the kids seemed to get dimmer and dimmer. He lapsed into silence again, crushing his beer before getting another can. 

“But I won't. Need your help after all,” you clarified. As you finished a beer, he passed you another one. After drinking almost half of it, you spoke again. 

“I'm not gonna kill Peterson. That's why you wouldn't let me go, isn't it? You still thought I'd kill him, thought I was a threat.” 

“Are you?” He asked, you swore his eye burnt a little brighter. 

“To you? Always.” He let out a throaty laugh, and you couldn't help but smile. He looked at you then, his gaze a little lighter than usual. It only lasted a few moments before his expression was serious again. 

“We should sleep.”

“Yeah. Yeah we should.” You both lapsed into silence as you were both well on the way to finishing both packs of beers. 

“This place have a bathroom?” You really needed to piss after all that beer, you wouldn't be able to sleep otherwise. He shrugged, wiping a hand over his mouth. 

“Don't know. Probably.” Pulling the blanket off you, it took a few moments to stand. You felt a wave of lightheadedness, you didn't realise how drunk you actually were until you stood up. At least you couldn't feel your leg too much. You headed for the door on the right, taking a step over the bags by your feet to get past Cable. Another wave of dizziness took you by surprise and before you lost your balance, he stabilised you, both of his arms around you. 

“Shit,” you muttered, your vision was fucked, everything kept sliding diagonally down. It was making you nauseous so you closed your eyes. You tried to ignore the warmth of his touch, but fuck it felt good. 

“Let's go together,” he told you, his body brushed up against you, he must have stood up too. Opening your eyes, you placed your arm around his neck, his own wrapped around your waist. You'd done this before, hadn't you? He took some of your weight as he guided you out of the living room down the hallway, using your flashlight to find the way.

“You drunk?” You asked, noting that his pace was unsteady and much slower than usual.

“I don't have much of a tolerance.”

“Me either,” you whispered, unable to help a quiet giggle. “Well. . .not anymore.” Cable hummed at you before opening up a door to the right, it was just a store cupboard. He half-carried you to the next door up ahead, and you groaned in victory when you saw it was a bathroom. After he helped you inside, he handed you the flashlight and said to give him a shout when you were done. 

Shutting the door behind you, it took a few moments to get your bearings. You managed to piss in the toilet which was a plus in the current state you were in. But of course it didn't flush. After pulling the chain a few times, you accidentally dropped the flashlight. Fuck it. Bending down to pick it up, you managed to land on your knees and another wave of dizziness hits you. You closed your eyes, and the feeling subsided a little. Slowly laying on the floor, you felt better. There was less chance of you throwing up when you weren't moving. You'd stay here for a little bit, just a little bit until you were better. . .then you'd call him, you'd ask him to. . .

\- - -

It was hot, it was really fucking hot. A layer of sweat covered your body. That wasn't right, it was cold in the cabin. He had said that, well he had implied that there wasn't any heating. So why was it so warm? Letting out a groan, you shifted slightly, trying to move away from the source of heat. You stopped moving when you realised that his body was pressed against you from behind, his arm was wrapped around your waist.

Opening your eyes, the room was dark but there a little light streaming through the cracks in between the boards on the windows. You were both lying on the sofa, blankets wrapped around you both. His legs were tucked against the back of yours. No wonder why you were sweating. You felt him breathing, the slow rise and fall of his chest. It was oddly comforting, along with that smell of ozone. 

How the fuck did you end up like this? You'd had some beers last night, a lot of beers, he did too. You needed to piss, but you didn't feel good so you sprawled out onto the floor waiting for the dizziness and nausea to pass and. . .that's all you remembered. You must have passed out and he carried you back to the sofa to sleep. A sigh escaped you, were you meant to feel angry? Irritated by the fact he'd moved you yet again and now he was holding you tight? You couldn't summon either of those feelings. 

It made sense. The cabin was almost as cold as it was outside and sharing your body heat enabled you to sleep through the night without freezing to death. He wouldn't see it as intimate, merely necessity, practicality. You were both fully clothed, you still had your boots on, and you were pretty sure he had his on too. 

You pulled the blanket down to your hips for some cooler air. It would be a brief respite until it got too cold again and you'd have to cover yourself up. You could just about make out his arm around you in the dark. It was his left arm, the metal one. He'd taken off the leather gloves that he'd wore in public. There was something almost gratifying about the fact he didn't hide it from you. He never had. At least mutants didn't have to hide from each other. 

The dexterity of his hand continued to mystify you, the way he could employ such force with it, and yet such gentleness. You gently traced your fingers over his hand, along the platelets of his knuckles. They were so warm. 

“You alright?” he mumbled, the sudden noise making you jump and yank your hand away from him. Had he been awake before you? Fuck. 

You sat up on the sofa, moving the blanket completely off you. The cold didn't seem to cool your cheeks which were burning from the embarrassment of him catching you. After all those beers, you only had a slight headache and a faint hint of nausea working from your stomach up to your throat. Least it wasn't all bad. 

“Sorry, I shouldn't have touched you like that,” you replied, wondering what the fuck had possessed you to do that. You turned around to face him to see if he'd accept your apology. 

“It's fine,” he muttered. You couldn't tell if he was looking directly at you in the dark, but there was something off about his tone. He pulled the blanket away from him and got off the sofa, quickly heading down the hallway, to where the bathroom was. 

What the fuck was wrong with you? You still did that even after yesterday when you had seethed at him to not fucking touch you? And here you were unable to control yourself. His absence only made the shame worse, it clearly wasn't fine. 

He came back after a few minutes and pried off some boards on the windows to let some light in. Peering through the gaps, half a foot of snow covered the ground and trees around the cabin. Sharing the sofa with him resting up against you underneath the blankets, it was just a necessity after all. 

He pulled out the satellite phone from one of the bags and made a call, but no one seemed to answer. He said he'd try again soon, handing you a food packet and some water for breakfast. Both of you ate in silence, and you couldn't help but think back to all those days sharing meals on that small dining table. 

The whirring of his arm had long since made you uncomfortable. Now it was as normal to you as the rest of his gruff countenance. 

When he finished, he told you what his plan was so far. After making contact with Neena, she would locate one of the facility's administrative buildings where all the data from their assets were maintained and stored for research. As each of their sites functioned on a closed network, it would be impossible to hack them from the outside. 

When she found the data centre, you and Cable would go there, he'd break in, breach the network and find where the kids had been taken. 

“Might not be possible to do it quietly. If they know they've been compromised, they could move their assets, relocate their high priority personnel, valuable research and mutants, shrub the whole system clean. When I get a location, I can send it to Neena and Wilson, maybe a few others too. They can find them, and get them back.” 

You nodded slowly, trying to process everything he'd said. If the facility knew they'd been hacked, they could move the kids before the others could get to them in time. Doctor Peterson knew you wanted them back, he would have. . .your fists clenched, trying to rid the image of his smile from your mind. He would have taken extra precautions to keep them hidden, or maybe even the opposite. 

If you knew their location, he'd know you try to get them out. It could be a trap. 

“This is all going to be a matter of luck, isn't it?” 

“No, not with Neena.”

“She's really that lucky?”

“Yeah. With luck on her side, and us on hers. . .it'll work.” 

“You really think so?” He considered your question for a moment. 

“Yeah. I do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey there, apologies for the delay. Started out pretty good with Nano but sorta found myself in a really weird head space so I haven't been doing well lately. I'm trying to get back in the swing of writing and have started writing the next chapter. Thankyou for the kudos and comments, and thanks for reading! Hope you enjoyed it.


	8. Obstinate

He came back from the truck with the pair of crutches he'd given to you back at the apartment. You were amazed that he'd even thought to pick them up from where you'd dumped them. The kind gesture caught you off guard and you weren't able to mutter a thanks before he handed them to you. 

“Thought I should have these?” You echoed, remembering when he first gave you the crutches. You kept underestimating his kindness, the lengths he'd go. 

He grunted in response, a positive affirmation. 

The ends of the crutches seemed to have something to make them wider. He said that you'd be able to use them in the snow.

“We going somewhere?” You asked, wondering where he was going to take you. The cabin wasn't warm, but at least it wasn't as exposed as outside. He grabbed most of the empty beer cans from the coffee table, putting them all into a duffel bag before slinging it over his shoulder. He simply tilted his head towards the front door, telling you to dress warm. 

After layering up, putting on the hat, gloves and scarf, you followed him out of the cabin and into the trees. Cable didn't bother putting on extra clothes, only a pair of gloves. He walked next to you, probably to make sure you didn't fall flat on your face. You took it slow with the crutches, but the extended ends seemed to work well in the snow. That bastard sure could be nice when he wanted to be. 

“How familiar are you with weapons?” He spoke after a minute or two of walking. 

“I can get the job done I guess.” He stopped, taking off the bag and dropping it onto the snow. He pulled out the sidearm from his holster and handed it to you. 

“Show me.” You gave him one of the crutches, keeping the other tucked under your arm. 

The gloves were slightly too thick to get a proper grip on the gun, so you took them off before releasing the magazine to check it was full. You flicked off the safety and pointed the gun vaguely at the trees in front of you. 

Letting the gun drop to your side, you weren't quite sure what he was expecting from you. His expression was blank, eyes at normal intensity. Cable laid down the crutch before taking out some of the cans from the bag. He walked about twenty yards away, his boots crunching into the soft snow with each step. He placed the cans on a low-lying branch that was mostly horizontal. Right, target practice. 

When he came back, he gave you the go ahead to fire and you tried your best to shoot the cans. After emptying the clip, you didn't hit one, your ears were ringing from the noise. 

“Not bad,” he remarked, and in response you scoffed, wondering what he was thinking as you gave him back the empty clip. 

“I didn't hit any of them.” 

“That's fine. You've got a pretty good grip, know the basics. It's not bad.” 

“Thanks. . .it's just easier to use my powers, you know?” 

“You can't always use them. I'm going to teach you how to use this,” he told you, taking the gun from your grasp. You took the opportunity to hold onto the crutch, ease a bit of weight off your leg. “How to strip it, how to clean it. There'll come times and places more often than you think when you can't use your powers.” He held out the gun, pulling back the slide to reveal the round in the chamber. “Always brass-check.”

“Are you sure you want to teach me all this?” 

“You've only got so much blood. And most of the time it's better when they think you're human. They get erratic around mutants. Unpredictable.” He gave you back the gun and you repeated his movements, brass-checking as he called it. Cable told you to aim again before adjusting your grip on the gun and laying your finger flat on the barrel. 

“Finger on the trigger only when you intend to fire. When your leg's better you need to widen your stance. It needs to be solid, like this.” He demonstrated the correct stance for you, his legs slightly further than shoulder width apart, one leg in front of the other. He gently put his hand on top of your hands before lowering the gun down. 

“Always aim for the centre of mass. Forget about headshots,” he told you as he walked to where the cans were. He wrapped a piece of cloth around one of the trees close by, so that it was about the same level as his chest. 

“Here to here, alright?” He gestured to his shoulders then to his hips. After coming back to you, he told you to empty the clip at the target as fast as possible. 

“Don't you have some earplugs?” 

“You're not going to use them in the field. Get used to the noise. It will be even louder indoors.” You tried to brace yourself for the noise before firing at the tree, finger pulling the trigger over and over. When you were finished, he checked the cloth, noting you'd got one round on target. He pulled out another magazine from the duffel bag, telling you to do it faster. 

Cable kept giving you advice as you continued the shooting practice over the next hour or so. You were relieved when he said you'd break for lunch. The ringing in your ears seemed more pronounced inside the cabin, but it would pass soon enough. After lunch and some time to rest your leg, he took you back outside for more practice and brought one of the ammunition boxes for you to sit on. You kept practicing until it started to get dark, managing to get through almost a whole bag of magazines. 

You were exhausted when you finally took a seat on the sofa, legs aching from standing up so long. Was it too early to have a nap? As you began lighting the candles, the satellite phone rang. 

“Yeah?” Cable answered gruffly. “Hey Neena.” 

He spoke to her for a while about the plan he mentioned earlier about finding one of facility's data centres, breaking in to access the network and find the location of the kids. “You wanna pull a ZIP code out of a hat or something? Mmmhmm. . .yeah I'll wait.” 

He perched on the edge of the sofa and silently waited for a few minutes. Among the rations, you managed to find some candy and messily ripped the packet open, relishing in the sugar filling your mouth. You offered some to Cable and he seemed to hesitate for a seconds, eyes watching you carefully like he was making sure you weren't going to poison him. Finally he held out his free hand so you emptied out some candy into his metal palm before he threw it all into his mouth. 

He always ate fast, almost greedily like he wasn't sure he was going to get another meal. He reminded you of Reese in a way when you first met her, the distrust, the skittishness, the way she would watch you constantly for that moment when you'd break her trust. Why was it that you seemed to trust him even after everything he did, but that trust wasn't reciprocated at all?

You offered him some more when he finished but he turned away from you, sliding off the sofa. 

“You sure? Alright, I'll call you when we're there.” He ended the call, telling you it was time to leave. Neena had given him a location.

\- - -

It didn't take long for the both of you to pack everything up and get the truck loaded. The sky was black when you left the cabin. Cable drove out of the forest and back onto the paved roads, telling you that it would take the better part of two days to get to the data centre. On the outside, he said the building was dressed up as an insurance company, and that there were probably a number of employees who believed that the company existed. Not all of them would be part of the facility. 

You wished the both of you could get on a plane, but your fake identity had been blown after the facility found you and the kids. It was going to be expensive to get a new one, and the guy who'd made the last one had taken over a week.

You tried to get comfortable in the seat, using the blanket as a pillow. There was a cold draft coming in from the window so you turned to face Cable instead. Taking off your boots, you curled up and propped your socked feet on the seat. You thought it would take a while to sleep what with the constant ache in your legs, but the next thing you knew was waking up groggily in the truck. 

It felt like a day had passed, even though it was still dark outside. Looking over to Cable, you realised your legs were laid out, feet resting on his lap and tucked underneath his jacket. 

“Shit, sorry,” you apologised, pulling your legs away carefully and reaching out to find your boots and put them back on. You must have sprawled out in your sleep and he was too kind to shove you away. You tried to ignore how cold you feet were now. “What time is it?”

“Just past eleven,” he replied, seemingly unconcerned that your legs had been splayed across him. Rubbing your eyes, you opened up the dash to grab some food you'd put in earlier. 

“I'll drive in a minute,” you told him as you started eating some tortillas. They were actually pretty tasty. “Want some?” 

“I'm good,” he replied, pulling something out of the breast pocket of his jacket. It was more of the candy from earlier. You laughed, almost dropping some of the food from your mouth. 

“I got you hooked, huh?” He hummed in response, eating a small handful of the candy before sliding the packet back into his pocket. After taking another bite of the food, you realised that you'd just laughed. When was the last time you did that? A stab of guilt in your gut wiped the smile off your face. After finishing up the tortillas, he pulled over on the side of the road. 

You took the opportunity to piss out by the trees before getting in the driver's seat. As you drove back onto the road, you reached out towards Cable and grabbed some of the candy from his pocket. You threw them into your mouth before he could protest. 

He didn't say anything, but you swore you heard a low, dissatisfied grunt from the back of his throat. He gave you some directions a little while after that. From the low light of the gauges, his head was leaning back against the seat, he'd probably shut his eyes. 

The shift between you was making you uncomfortable as much as it was making you comfortable. The former because things were so different between you, because he'd changed his mind and you weren't quite convinced he'd follow through with his word. You couldn't escape the niggling sense of distrust, of the urge to run and find the kids by yourself. You'd been on your own for so long that letting someone else take some of the burden felt. . .wrong. But your instincts were telling you to trust him, to let him help. It was what you were going to follow. 

He was treating you almost like his partner now. He didn't say he should drive a few more hours when you offered, he'd pulled over without a word. He was training you too, he wouldn't bother if he was merely taking you along for the ride, letting you believe you were headed in the right direction. 

You understood his reasoning to train with guns rather than with your powers. You knew it wasn't just about the limitations of them, but the threat they posed. He wanted to avoid what could have happened to Peterson. Letting out a sigh, you straightened up in the seat, forcing yourself to focus more on the road ahead. 

A few miles passed before you saw red and blue lights flashing up ahead. 

“Hey, Cable,” you said, trying to wake him up and get his attention. He murmured something unintelligible before you could see him leaning forward. “Is that a road block?” 

“Car accident.” As you got closer, you could see a car was in the middle of the road, another had gone off it completely and was turned over. Two police vehicles blocked the road at either end. An officer approached the truck, and you could see Cable tense, his hand was probably going for his weapon. Rolling down the window, you asked if the people had gotten out alright. 

“Yeah, there weren't any serious injuries. Only a broken arm I believe,” the officer's eyes looked between you and Cable, shining his flashlight to illuminate the cab. “Where you headed?”

“Oh, that's a relief to hear they're okay,” you replied, forcing yourself to smile. “We're heading to my mom's actually. It's her birthday tomorrow, or I guess today really. She's always telling me to be careful around these roads. Isn't she, hun?” You turned to Cable, hoping he'd catch onto your act. He hummed in agreement a beat too slow. 

“Sorry about him,” you let out a laugh. “He's been asleep, poor thing's been working all day.” The officer's eyes scanned the both of you carefully before asking where your mom lives. 

“Burwell City, just by the reservation,” you replied, hoping he wouldn't ask anything more specific. He considered your answer for a few moments and then lowered his flashlight. He let you past, telling you to go to the left side of the vehicle in the middle of the road. 

You drove slowly for the next mile and asked Cable whether his plates were clean. He replied that they were. Breathing out a sigh of relief, you were sure that the cop was going to check the plates, he didn't seem quite convinced. 

“Try to reply a little faster next time,” you told him, pressing your foot down on the accelerator. The more miles you put between the truck and those cops the better. 

“I'm sorry?” 

“Reply faster, okay? I barely managed to cover you.” You checked the rear view mirror, but there was nothing but black. “I wasn't caught because I was bad bullshitter.” 

“You got caught because you allowed yourself to be exposed.”

“No, it was because I let someone help when I shouldn't have,” you replied angrily, hand tightening around the steering wheel. The truck was going faster than the speed limit, so you eased off the gas, wanting nothing more than to plant your foot down hard. 

He didn't reply. 

It was barely two in the morning, too early to swap over. You hoped that he'd go back to sleep, but you were sure he didn't, his head wasn't resting against the seat. The next few hours went by particularly slowly, maybe it was because you were on edge. Maybe it was because he was on edge too. You shouldn't have mentioned anything about what happened, letting someone help. He probably thought you wanted to run again, and he wasn't exactly wrong. 

But what you felt didn't matter. It was pointless going over it time and time again. The decision was made, you had to concentrate on what was ahead. 

He told you to pull over at exactly 4am. You almost wanted to argue, but if he wasn't going to sleep, you might as well get some shut eye. You turned away from him, wrapping your arms around yourself and trying to imagine that Reese had taken over at the wheel, Elsie and Bowen tucked in behind you. 

You hoped that this would all be over. 

\- - - 

You woke up knowing you'd had a nightmare, but couldn't quite remember any of the details, only the remnants of horror and dread. Cable was still driving, he didn't acknowledge you when you woke. You tried to relish in the sunlight as it had felt like an age since it had been daytime. 

The weather was slightly warmer the further south he drove, still cold but no snow in sight. You stared mindlessly at the road, the ache in your chest not giving you the energy to do much else. How many weeks had it been now? Fuck it was hard to truly picture their faces, difficult to remember the sound of their voices, their laughter. What would happen if you failed? What if you never found out whether they were alive or dead? Would you keep looking for them the rest of your life? 

You'd never forget them, but time has already made the memories degrade. How long would it take for them to fade away?

He pulled over at a gas station to fill up the truck and the jerry cans. As he went inside to pay, you pulled out the med kit from your backpack, and injected half a syringe of painkiller into your thigh. Your leg didn't exactly hurt, and the ache had mostly eased but you just needed some relief. You shoved away the med kit before he got back. 

He looked you over when he got in the truck but seemed satisfied that you didn't have a weapon. Did he forget already? You were the weapon. 

Your eyes felt heavy as the gradual haze of numbness began to spread across your limbs. You sunk further into the seat and leaned against the window, finger tracing one of the cracks. The truck suddenly swerved and came to a halt. You looked over to Cable, wondering what was going on. Were there cops or something? A hand pressed against your face, fingers pulling one of your eyes wide open. 

“Did you. . .did you just take something?” He asked, disgust laced in his voice. 

“Yeah, just some painkiller for my leg,” you mumbled, trying to subtly shift away when he leaned in closer, his other hand rested on your thigh. 

“Does it hurt?” He asked, moving his hand to your other eye and splaying it open so you couldn't blink. 

“Yeah.” 

“Are you sure?” He looked down to your thigh, and you followed suit, noticing that his hand was pressing down hard against the healed wound. He was testing you and you didn't even realise. As you were about to protest and argue that the painkiller worked really fast, you knew he'd caught the lie. There was no point making it any worse. 

He reached over you, grabbing the backpack and rifling through it for the med kit. When he found the two vials, he crushed them in his metal hand and threw the broken shards out of the truck window. 

“You sure those kids won't be better off without you,” he muttered before driving back onto the road. 

The words took a while to settle. Their barbed precision cut through you with ease and it was a struggle to keep yourself together. The painkiller didn't give you the relief you desperately needed, somehow it was the worse. The pain was muted but all-consuming, the ache in your chest seemed to blossom and sink down into your bones. There was no escape from it. 

He drove through the morning. One hand on the wheel meant that he was getting tired. You didn't want to say anything. You just wanted the world to keep going past, the road to be endless as much as it was mindless, but he must have been getting tired. 

“I'll um, I'll drive now, okay?” He sneered, letting out a breathy laugh and not saying a word.

“Look, I'm okay to drive. I only had half a full dose.” He didn't bother to reply and kept his eyes focused on the road ahead. When he pulled over an hour later to fill up the tank, you thought he was going to let you drive. You jumped out of the truck to stretch your legs, and to hopefully switch places with him, but he got straight back into the driver's seat. 

All the progress you'd made with him was gone. Maybe if you went for a weapon in the back he'd tie you up again, at least then things between you would be clear. But you simply got back into the truck, and turned up the radio to give yourself a distraction. 

It was late in the evening when he pulled up at a motel. Did he really not trust you to drive? The effects of the painkiller had long since passed. 

“We don't need to stop, I told you that I can drive.” 

“Wait here,” he told you before heading to the motel's reception. You held your head in your hands, fingers digging into your scalp. This wasn't going to work, this wasn't going to fucking work if he was going to be like this. Pulling your hands away, you let out a heavy breath, clenching your fists and repeating over and over in your mind that you were doing this for the kids. You didn't have the resources or the skills that he had, the goddamn bastard. 

Maybe you could steal the satellite phone, talk to Neena yourself and see if she would-

“Come on.” Cable had knocked on the window, startling you from formulating a plan. You took the backpack and he grabbed a few duffel bags from the back of the truck. You followed him silently as you limped, and waited for him to unlock one of the rooms. The light on the ceiling was a hazy orange. It illuminated a lone double bed, damp on the walls, a sad-looking chair that was about to collapse and a small bathroom.

"I'll take the chair." He dumped the duffel bags by the side table and chair before taking off his jacket and fiddling with the heater. 

"You're not sleeping on that," you replied, it looked as if one of the legs were about to snap off. He'd been driving since four in the morning, he needed rest. Cable glared at you, and there was almost challenge in his eyes. There was no doubt that he would sleep in that chair. "We'll sleep opposites."

"Come again?”

"One of us with our head by the board, and the other with their head at the end, opposites. There'll be enough room.” His eyes were dark as he stared. 

"Chair's fine," he muttered before taking off his holster and laying the gun on the table. Had sleeping next to you on the sofa back at the cabin really been that much of a hassle? What was his problem now? You gritted your teeth at his obstinance before kicking one of the chair legs clean off. The chair toppled quietly over onto the carpet.

“Is it?” You asked, sitting on the bed before unlacing your boots. His jaw twitched as he stood there trying to stare you down. He grabbed one of the bags before going into the bathroom and almost slamming the door behind him. 

Asshole, you thought to yourself, eyes flicking over to the table. You picked up the gun a minute after the shower came on. You practiced the grip he taught you, finger laying flat along the barrel. You brass-checked and flicked off the safety, moving your legs into the stance he'd shown you. 

You were right, he probably shouldn't have taught you this. 

Placing the gun back down, you slipped into bed. The mattress wasn't as comfortable as the one back at the apartment but it was a far sight better than the truck. After a few minutes laying down, it was starting to get difficult to keep your eyes open. Cable was standing by the table, he'd stripped down the gun and began cleaning it. For a moment, you felt bad about taking out the chair, but you knew it would be better for him in the long run. He needed somewhere decent to sleep. 

You turned on your side away from him, hoping that you wouldn't have another nightmare. 

\- - -

You woke to the sound of him telling you to get up. It felt like you'd barely slept. Your thigh twinged as you shifted in the bed to rest your back against the backboard. 

“You can shower before we leave.” He was rifling through one of the bags before he picked out some clothes. There was a pillow on the other end of the bed by your feet even though the sheets next to you had been pulled taut. You were relatively certain that he'd gotten some sleep. 

You couldn't help but revel in the small victory. He must not have liked doing what you told him. 

He handed you some clothes, saying that you had ten minutes. Closing the bathroom door, you were surprised to find the lock intact. The water wasn't hot, but it was manageable. You could mostly stand okay on both feet now, you'd probably need to take it easy for a while so you could heal properly. But there wasn't any time. 

After getting dressed, you were alone in the room. He'd probably gone off to load the truck. Putting on your boots, you tucked the chair in underneath the table, precariously propping the leg back up. It would collapse when someone pulled it out. 

He came back in through the door gesturing for you to leave. You grabbed your backpack and walked to the truck, trying to keep as steady as possible. As he headed to the reception, you took the passenger seat and wondered what time it was. The sun hadn't risen yet. A few minutes later he was back and then you were on the road again. It was quiet, must have been before people started going to work. 

You thought back to your last job, where the biggest concern was trying not to punch your boss in the face. It had been good to work for some money, doing something honest, something normal. That life seemed so far away now that you barely remembered what it was like going to the same place day after day, muddling through small talk with your colleagues, dealing with the regular customers, the complaints, the monotony of it all. The kids had to be protected, so you had to keep moving. Elsie hated it the most, she liked to grow roots, see the same faces, go through the same routine every day. You'd never been able to give her that. 

You traipsed through the memories of her, Bowen and Reese as the sun finally rose and the morning began to pass. It was around midday when he pulled off the road and got out to fill up. A ringing sound was coming from the dash and you opened it up to find the satellite phone inside. You answered it, wanting to speak to whoever it was yourself. 

“Hello?” 

“Oh hi! You must be Cable's friend.” 

“Uhh I mean I wouldn't exactly call him my. . .are you Neena?”

“Yeah, or Domino.” In the side mirror, you saw him coming up to the door. “Cable's not exactly the friendliest of people, is he? But anyway, I've got some bad news, I changed my mind about the location, doesn't feel right.” 

“What do you mean it doesn't-” Cable yanked the phone away from your grasp and spoke to Neena himself. He moved back to the tank and continued to fill it up with gas. 

“Changed your mind, huh? Hmm. . .alright. Got a new one? Yeah. . .call me when you do.” 

When he got back into the driver's seat, you asked him what she had said. He seemed to think carefully about how he was going to reply. You were trying desperately to control the anger that began to tense your muscles, make your hands curl into fists. 

“Location wasn't good. She'll give us a new one soon.” 

“That's it? That's all you're going to tell me?” 

“Nothing else to tell.” 

“So where are we going?” 

“We should keep moving.” 

“And go where?” 

“Stay off grid. Don't draw any attention to ourselves.” 

“And. . .” 

“And what?” He turned to you then, eyes heavy and brimming with growing rage, but you didn't look away. 

“Aren't you going lecture me about drawing attention to myself when I used my powers in public? How stupid I was that I allowed myself to be exposed? Isn't that what you were going to say?” He looked down to your legs for a brief moment, expression going blank. “And yeah, I wanted to numb the pain for just a while. I haven't seen my kids in weeks, I don't know what's happening to them, I don't know even know if they're alive. And yeah, you're right, those kids are probably better off without me. But I'm the only person that gives a shit about them.”

He didn't reply, never tried to argue back that he cared too. You knew he didn't. The only thing that mattered to him was his mission, save the future, prevent you from fucking it all up. You wondered why he hadn't save himself all the trouble and just put a bullet-

“I can reach out to some old contacts,” you mentioned, thinking back to the plan you'd made before Cable had caught up with you, or caught you. You didn't know which was the right one anymore. “I'll see if they can find anyone who works at the facility. There's a guy I met who's in the mutant underground, he might be able to help too.” 

“It's not worth the risk. The underground's the first place they'll look.” 

“They?”

“What. . .you thought the facility was just going to let you go? They're hunting you down. Your blood is a valuable asset to them, they want to harness your powers, know how to replicate them. Accessing their network is going to be hard enough as it is, let alone poking around the underground to see which mutant traitors are going to surface.” 

You thought hard about what he'd just told you. Trusting another mutant was how the facility found you in the first place. She told you that there a place where mutants kids could live, where they could go to school and be with others just like them. Where they could be free. It had expansive grounds, hidden away from the rest of the world where they could play and manage their powers in complete privacy. They even went on field trips. 

You should have known it was too good to be true. The facility had probably taken her kid as collateral, forced her to betray other mutants in exchange for her child's safety. 

“This is the best way,” he finally spoke again a few minutes later, voice softer than it had been for a while. 

“I can't just. . .sit here.”

“Neena's never let me down before. She's not gonna start now.” You let out a shaky breath, trying not to let the tears fall from your eyes. “You're going to train, so you can be ready.” 

You picked at the skin around the fingernail on your thumb, seeing how much the nails had grown since he'd cut them. You were probably imagining it but your fingernails felt stronger than you remembered, like they'd grown stronger after being reduced to nothing. He was right. In your heart there was nothing but desperation, but it would only make things worse. 

“So I know exactly how to shoot you in the face?” You replied, trying to shift to a lighter conversation. 

“Sure,” he mumbled, a slight smile on his lips. 

He started up the truck and headed back onto the road, driving through small towns for an hour or two until there was nothing but wilderness and dense forests. Cable seemed to know exactly where he was going even though this was an unscheduled detour. He turned down an unpaved road heading across an open field. You gripped onto the seat as the truck sludged through the terrain which seemed to get worse every few hundred yards. It must have been about two miles until you saw a line of trees up ahead. 

He slowed down when you headed into the forest, you wondered if there was another cabin like before. How did he know about that place if it wasn't his to begin with?

A tree blocked the way ahead, so Cable jumped out of the truck to move it clear. You slid into the driving seat, your thigh didn't protest as much as you expected from the movement. The tree was easily three stories tall, and yet he lifted it up with both arms, the metal one taking most of the weight as he moved it out of the way. He strained only a little from the effort. As he approached the truck, he cleared away one of the branches that was by the front wheel. He didn't noticed you were in the driver's seat until he was at the door. 

The surprise was muted on his expression, his eyes seemed softer than usual. He raised an eyebrow before standing on the step below the door, his arm grabbing on the door frame. He tilted his head to signal you to drive. 

You didn't think he'd appreciate it if you steered him into a tree, the rebellious desire bubbled in the back of your mind. Maybe it was because his anger was the most obvious thing about him. It was easy to know. The rest of his emotions were much more difficult to decipher. This would all be easier if he wasn't so fucking obstinate. He was ill-tempered, indignant, barely spoke half the time and when he did he couldn't help but point out your flaws, your weaknesses. 

You rolled down the window, asking him if there was another cabin up ahead. 

“This area's remote, hiking routes are miles away and it's not hunting season. Good place for shooting practice.” 

“So no cabin? Are we gonna find a motel later?” 

“We'll stay in the truck tonight.” 

“In here?” Maybe Cable didn't actually sleep last night, otherwise he'd probably say you'd keep moving, drive through until morning. He grunted in affirmation before getting off the truck and clearing a few smaller trees from the path. When he climbed back on, arm latching onto the door by your shoulder, you waited for him to bend his head down and look at you. 

“Did you actually get in the bed last night?” His eyes seemed to darken. 

“Yeah,” he admitted, pulling away. You nodded, content in your assured victory before pressing onwards. Staying in the truck was probably a safety precaution, rather that than stay in a place with proper heating. 

As the trees thinned out a little more, he directed you off the path completely and you drove a few hundred yards. He had to clear the way and direct you around a fallen tree that hadn't quite broken free from its trunk. It wasn't long until he held both his hands up for you to stop. Hopefully the temperature would be a few degrees higher what with the trees around. At least it wasn't snowing either. That cold had been biting. 

He set up some practice targets, bits of cloth tied around trees, some beer cans and pieces of scrap wood. Sitting in the back of the truck, he filled up the magazines you'd emptied with loose rounds from one of the ammo boxes. He directed your shooting from where he sat. 

Left tree high, middle can, bend your knees more, adjust your sight alignment, weight forward slightly. 

You rubbed your thigh when he was grabbing you another magazine. It had started to ache after about twenty minutes of standing. Cable must have spotted you doing it as he set up a crate and an ammo box as an improvised seat not too long after. 

You asked for a break when your stomach starting rumbling and ate some lunch with him, more of the same ration packets. It could have been better. He handed you back the gun the moment you finished, gesturing for you to keep practicing. You held the sigh in until you were facing away from him. As you tried to shoot the cans, you couldn't stop thinking about food. 

You were really starting to crave something hot and hearty, like that first soup he gave you. . .

It was fucking weird thinking about how things had first been. You could never have imagined that you'd be firing a gun with him behind you, giving you pointers. Turning back to him, you watched as he carefully applied some lip balm before throwing another mag. You didn't manage to catch it, too distracted from what he was doing. 

“Rapid fire while walking towards the target,” he ordered before telling you which target to go towards. Bracing yourself for the intense noise, you squared your shoulders and corrected your stance. You started walking to the target, firing as quickly as you could, it seemed faster than the first time you did it. 

Cable didn't mention a word, and continued to supply you with magazines, correcting your movements. 

After finishing up practice, he helped you into the back of the truck. 

“These need to be cleaned regularly,” he told you, picking up another gun that was identical to the one he gave you. “You need to learn how to disassemble this. Make sure it's clear.” You took out the magazine, and brass-checked, making sure there wasn't a round in the chamber. 

“Now pull the trigger. Pull the slide back a little and at the same time pull the take down lever here. It's on both sides.” You watched as he demonstrated it for you on his gun before you followed his instructions and managed to take the slide off your own. 

“Take out the spring, then the barrel and that's a basic disassemble.” 

He continued to talk you through basic maintenance of the weapon and how to clean the slide, the frame, the coils of the spring. As sunlight began to fade, the temperature dropped rapidly, so he relocated the both of you inside the cab of the truck. He brought the blankets to the front, letting you have the lions share of them. It seemed harder to get comfortable when the truck wasn't moving. Maybe it was because he seemed to be watching you closely, more so than usual. 

“You did good work today,” he complimented you, gaze averted to the dark outside. Good work? Why was he being nice again? As the answer dawned on you, a loud scoff escaped your mouth and you shook your head. 

“You. . .you didn't actually sleep, did you?” 

“What?” 

“You got in the bed, but you didn't actually sleep.”

“What are you. . .” You let out a breathy laugh when he didn't quite manage to come up with a lie and misdirect you from the truth. 

“You get nice when you're tired. Is that why you want to stay here? I'm okay to drive through the night so you can sleep.” 

“We both need the rest.”

“This isn't exactly a great place to rest, Cable.” You sighed when he didn't bother to reply. “You got any beer?”

“All out.” 

“All out of beer, and all out of luck, hmm?”

“Not for long.”


End file.
